


open flame

by maya_kov_sky



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canon Compliant, F!Byleth, F/M, any other characters are minor, begins in pre-timeskip but will probably stretch into post, byleth adopts flayn because who wouldn't, can I pull off a slow burn and mutual pining with vignettes? we'll find out, canon adjacent, golden deer byleth but I recruit Everyone, longform setleth where the green idiots become close friends because of how much they adore flayn, nothing sexual unless I change my mind last minute
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:34:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 39,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26603797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maya_kov_sky/pseuds/maya_kov_sky
Summary: Flayn seems to adore the Professor, and vice versa. Seteth does not trust her at first, but their mutual affection for Flayn draws them into a friendship that may lead somewhere more. A series of (canon compliant and canon-adjacent) vignettes to tell of how Seteth and Byleth came to care for one another.
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Seteth
Comments: 62
Kudos: 126





	1. I.I. - Seashells

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth is an excellent gift-giver. Seteth supposes he can cut her a bit of a break.

The first day that Seteth decided he might be able to trust the new Professor was, perhaps, a fluke.

To her credit, the events of his day up until that point had put him in an abysmal mood, and the Professor had (perhaps unwittingly) struck upon the one thing that always seemed to brighten the world around him. 

Seteth had begun his day by tripping over his office threshold and spilling a freshly poured cup of tea all over the carpet and the lap of his tunic. He’d had to trudge back to his room to change clothes, grumbling the whole way to himself about the uneven ground at his doorway that he kept forgetting to seek repairs for. Not two hours into his workday, his quill snapped in half and the stack of paperwork on his desk had almost doubled in size by the time he had located a suitable replacement. By the afternoon, Seteth had a splitting headache brought about by the volume at which Manuela argued with Hanneman across the hall. He’d closed his door in hopes of muffling the noise and finishing _something_ before lunchtime.

At some point, a rapid little knock beat upon his door. 

“Come in.” Seteth did his best not to bite out the words. 

He was glad he hadn’t, for Flayn had been the source of the knock. She flounced into his office, hands folded behind her back, and smiled timidly when she reached his desk. “My dear brother, you... Look as though you could use a break.”

Seteth was suddenly aware of how tense his shoulders were, how tightly he held his new quill. Flayn had left the door ajar, but he couldn’t hear a fight anymore. He took a moment to compose himself and place the quill gently into his inkwell. “I suppose I have been rather engrossed in my work.”

“Is that what you were?” Flayn folded her hands together and sat in the little chair beside the desk. She sounded as though she was telling a secret when she added, “You only make that face when you’re angry, Brother.”

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you could be talking about.” He swept the documents he’d been working on to the side so that he could give her his undivided attention. “I have simply had a very busy morning.”

“Suit yourself.” Flayn turned up her nose as she popped back up onto her feet. “Nevertheless, it is time for lunch, and I am particularly famished.”

Seteth was accustomed to working through the midday hours and, admittedly, had planned to as soon as his quill had broken. But he could never say no to Flayn.

The two of them made their way down from the offices into the reception hall, Flayn leading the short walk from there to the dining hall. The noise did not help his headache; Seteth hoped that a meal, and perhaps a new cup of tea, could do what the intermittent silence of his office could not. Flayn’s company, certainly, was sure to improve his mood a bit… but that was if no one was brave enough to join them for the duration of the meal.

Flayn seemed to be acutely conscious of his discomfort. She picked out a seafood dish they were both fond of for their meal and chose a more secluded part of the dining hall to sit in; it was a courtesy he was grateful for, especially given how he knew Flayn loved to sit among the other students.

The quiet between them was comfortable as they ate. Flayn, perhaps, was the only person he felt comfortable sitting in silence with. 

“Thank you,” he murmured at one point, words which drew her wide eyes up to him from the bite of crispy fish upon her fork. “You were right. I did need a break. I am appreciative that you would accommodate me this way.”

Flayn smiled gently. “A quiet meal is just as pleasant as any other, my dear brother.”

Her lips said brother, but the tenderness in her expression said _father_. These little moments that appeared between them sometimes, where one of their biggest secrets felt so incredibly exposed in word or expression or behavior, always seemed to remind Seteth of how lucky he felt to have Flayn with him. She was still a child, still immature and naïve more often than not, but she was patient, and it was a behavior of hers that he cherished. He endeavored to make this up to her, somehow. 

It was near the end of the meal when Flayn’s voice, joyful around the words, “Oh, Professor!” sent a fearful jolt through him. He turned to see the Professor meandering around benches and loitering students, practically making a beeline for their table. Oh, and he had just begun to feel better.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like the Professor. Well, he supposed he didn’t quite like her, either. He had no strong feelings for Jeralt’s daughter beyond distrust. Lady Rhea had seemingly thrown her into the position of ‘Professor’ despite no credentials, no experience beyond mercenary work, and absolutely no information about her past. The Professor claimed to not even know her own age. 

Seteth had gone up against Rhea several times before about this stranger, and every time, Rhea had gone to bat for her for reasons beyond Seteth’s comprehension. He had initially theorized that Rhea’s immediate trust had stemmed from her storied history with Jeralt, but lately, with all of the information he had done his best to dredge up on Byleth Eisner, Seteth wasn’t so sure. 

In any case, he felt right not to trust her. And it always made his blood pressure rise when she came to talk to Flayn.

“Hello, Flayn. Seteth.” The Professor gave them both a polite nod in greeting. She wore the same expression she always seemed to wear, wide-eyed and tight-lipped, and held a small leather pouch in her hands. “Please, don’t let me disturb you. I won’t be long.”

Flayn swung her legs to the side of her chair to face the Professor. “I hope you have had a lovely day today, Professor. What brings you over?”

“I suppose it has been a good day. Thank you for asking.” Byleth lifted the pouch out to Flayn, which nearly made Seteth start out of his chair. “My apologies if this seems incredibly forward, but, I brought you a gift, Flayn.”

“Oh!” She clapped her hands together and reached for Byleth’s little parcel. Seteth gripped the sides of his chair and tried to remain composed. A gift was fine. Gifts were _fine_. But what in Sothis’ name would a _mercenary_ give as a _gift?_

“An assignment last week brought me to the coast,” the Professor explained as Flayn loosened the ties upon the pouch. “Hilda picked up some seashells while we were there and was teaching me how to make jewelry with them. I don’t particularly fancy jewelry, but they made me think of you.”

Flayn gaped and brought a tiny red and white spiral shell strung onto a gold chain out of the parcel; upon seeing it in her hand, Seteth immediately relaxed. He could hear something more clinking around in the pouch as Flayn reached back into it.

“Brother, look!” She produced a handful of hair clips that appeared to be inlaid with iridescent shell shards pieced together like a mosaic. 

Flayn, her face flushed with joy, looked between him and the Professor as if she couldn’t believe what had just happened to her. It was an expression that rendered Seteth momentarily, pleasantly breathless: the Professor had given Flayn not just a gift, but a gift that seemed to be incredibly tailored to her interests. Was she really so observant of the likes of her students? 

“Professor, I… these are absolutely beautiful!” Flayn continued to fumble over her reply, eagerly turning over the seashell clips and the pendant in her hands. “And you made them? I cannot accept such a personal gift—”

“Oh, nonsense. I would like you to have them. As I said, I don’t wear much jewelry, but I took to making it quite well and figured I could give some as a gift. Isn’t your birthday very soon?”

“I… yes, it is.” Flayn fumbled with the claps on the shell necklace, seemingly resigning to the gift: though she seemed the exact opposite of resigned. “Thank you, really, so incredibly much! You did not have to go to such lengths for me, Professor.” 

“It was no trouble, Flayn, I promise. I’m just glad you like them.”

Seteth stole a glance at the Professor and suddenly couldn’t take his eyes off of her. It was incredibly faint, but… this had to have been the first time he had seen her smile. The Professor’s eyes flickered to him, acknowledging his presence but not wishing to interrupt Flayn’s moment of elation with a verbal address. Her hint of a smile did not seem to falter in that moment he held her gaze.

“Like I said before, I don’t wish to interrupt your lunch.” Byleth gave them a polite nod, this time a goodbye. The ghost of a smile had vanished from her face, now. “I hope you both enjoy the rest of your meal and the rest of your day.”

She turned and started back the way she came, passing by a table that was half Golden Deer students and half Black Eagle students who cheered when she stopped to sit down with them. 

“Look at this!” Flayn said, part whisper and part shout. She turned the shell in her hands a little as she held it out to him from where it sat around her neck. “The Professor made this! Made this!”

Seteth had to admit: jewelry-making was not something he thought a former mercenary would have excelled at. He was… pleasantly surprised. And the sheer joy upon Flayn’s face energized him, enough that he felt the patience to take on the rest of the day returning; possibly even a scolding of Hanneman and Manuela included. He couldn’t remember the last time Flayn had been so excited about something.

Seteth decided, then, that he still didn’t have to like the Professor. There was still plenty he had to uncover about her, through Rhea and through channels of his own. 

But he _supposed_ he could put some effort into learning to trust her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! I'm not new to writing, but I am new to Ao3, so I figured I'd publish this here since the fe3h fandom seems pretty vibrant here. I'm also brand new to fe as a franchise, but I finished all four routes of the game the other day and just sort of went down the setleth rabbit hole (I'm also a slut for claudeleth, so you'll probably see THAT eventually).
> 
> I'm not sure how long this is going to be, but it is going to be in vignettes and probably follow some assorted story beats in both the academy and war phases (with some divergences). VW, because I love my Golden Deer. Anyways, I wanted to try out writing some stuff here. I always love comments and prompt suggestions, so don't be afraid to drop some for me to look at!


	2. I.II. - Company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth scours the monastery for Flayn. She offers a confusing, but not unwelcome, kindness to Seteth.

A month and a half later, he decided that the tenderness the Professor seemed to harbor for Flayn was a gift he was glad to have.

He had not proceeded much further in his research on the young, confident Miss Eisner. As a matter of fact, her sudden, unexplainable possession of the Crest of Flames and the ability to wield the Sword of the Creator had raised more questions than answers. It hadn’t helped that Rhea had been all too willing to pass over the Sword, as if it had been the Professor’s from the very start. The Archbishop _still_ would not answer Seteth’s questions, not in a way that made any difference in what he knew, and his theories were beginning to keep him up at night.

Byleth did not seem to notice his wariness of her; or, if she did, she hid it exceptionally well. She was always very polite, eager to assist him if he were to call on her, and doted on Flayn in his presence more than once. She would always greet him with a polite nod and noticeable change in posture, as if she had associated his presence with work to be done. He’d come across them having afternoon tea several times, and every so often Flayn would come up with some new gift that the Professor had bestowed upon her. 

Once, on a whim, he had been unable to contain the question, “Professor Eisner. Please excuse my forwardness, but I am rather curious as to the source of your affection for Flayn.”

“Just Byleth,” she had responded, a request which he felt physically unable to fulfill. “To be honest, Seteth, I’m not entirely sure myself.”

Hearing her say his name—made his breath hitch in a very peculiar way. Byleth’s eyes were wide and honest, and they did not flicker from his face as she spoke; they were a dark blue, a dreaming, waiting color. Something old sat within them.

“She is… an incredibly good person. Truthfully, she dredges up this protective instinct in me. I’ve always longed for a younger sibling.” The Professor paused, seeming somehow shy all of a sudden. Her eyes cut away from him, and Seteth felt a strange twinge of disappointment settle over him. “My apologies if I’m projecting. Genuinely, I enjoy spending time with her. I hope it hasn’t become a problem.”

“No,” he’d said, “I was only curious. Truthfully, I am appreciative of your treatment of her. She very much wants to fit in with the other students.”

“I am glad I can help facilitate that.” Byleth wrung her hands together. “Now, what was it you needed me to take care of?”

She was kinder than her typical deadpan expression would have anyone believe, Seteth noted. His research on her from dubious circles outside of Garreg Mach dubbed her the “Ashen Demon”: the kind of merc who felt nothing when they killed. But, perhaps he had made harsher assumptions about her than he had realized. The Professor was already quite dear to Flayn—that was prevalent simply by how glowingly Flayn had taken to speaking about her—and Seteth trusted Flayn above almost anyone else. He was probably doing his daugh—er, sister, a disservice by clinging to his preconceived notions about this strange battering ram of a woman whom Rhea had poured, seemingly, her entire life into as of late.

Perhaps that was why, during the month in which Flayn went missing, some part of him was not quite shocked that Miss Eisner was practically turning the monastery inside out in the search for her. He had not expected to be so grateful when she descended upon him not soon after Rhea had broken the news to the monastery staff. 

“Seteth.” Her voice was incredibly soft; approaching-a-wounded-animal levels of soft. When he looked at her, feeling so stressed that he was on the verge of pulling his hair out by the fistful, the acute expression of concern on her face seemed to drag him back into his body.

“I brought you this.” She extended a simple porcelain teacup etched with blue flowers. He hadn’t seen dishware like it in the dining hall, so the supposition that she had made him tea in one of her own personal cups was startling. And oddly pleasant. “It’s ginger. Flayn told me it was your favorite.”

He accepted it with shaking hands. The gesture sent a welcome twinge of warmth through him: that the Professor would make him tea, his favorite tea, likely upon the presumption that the so-far-fruitless search for Flayn was driving him mad (and it very much was; he wouldn’t be surprised if he looked the mess he felt).

Though her hands were wrung together shyly, Byleth’s eyes were not timid. They were clear with determination and deep enough to fall into, if Seteth was not careful. Something about the surety there was comforting.

“I swear I will find her, Seteth,” Byleth said, her voice still so soft around the words. “I will not rest until she is safe with us again.”

He was not sure what else to say beyond a broken, hushed, “ _Thank you_.”

Though most of the monastery was abuzz with Knights turning over every stone in the search for Flayn, Byleth seemed to make time for him quite a lot during her search. She kept bringing him tea, beginning conversation to seemingly take his mind off of the worry that was eating him from the inside out, and updating him with details of her own personal search. She had roped her students into it, she explained, since they were equally worried about Flayn.

The Professor was kind, _very_ kind, kinder to Seteth than he believed he deserved, especially since he was fairly sure he had given her quite the cold shoulder during her first few months at the monastery. He began to look forward to her visits as a much-needed reprieve from chewing his fingernails off or hiding in his office to keep Rhea or any of the Knights from bestowing their pity upon him. 

Seteth had conducted his own search initially, physically combing the monastery and the town of Garreg Mach for any sign of Flayn, but he had since exhausted all of his own resources to no avail and had to be sated momentarily by switching to cooperating with the Knights’ search. The Knights had been slow-going and somewhat bumbling, failing to stretch any leads into something useful. Byleth, though, had new information every time he saw her. And every time he looked into her seemingly bottomless eyes, he felt like he could trust her more. 

One afternoon, midway through the month, Byleth did not appear for their usual teatime. He paced his office for nearly an hour before a clamor in the hall caught his attention. Restless and curious for the cause, Seteth wrenched his office door aside and set his eyes on Claude von Riegan, who was carrying what looked to be an unconscious Manuela.

“Wha—Claude!” Seteth raced after them just as Claude vanished into the infirmary. “What in the goddess’ name—”

“Seteth!” Claude lifted Manuela onto one of the infirmary beds and pinned Seteth with the most serious look he thought he’d ever seen the boy wear. “You have to help me out, here. Manuela’s badly wounded and I don’t know any healing magic. The Professor found her out like this and took the rest of the Deer after the culprit.”

Seteth’s heart rose in his throat. Manuela looked to be out cold, but her face was contorted. Her gown was stained with blood. He would have to find the time to be concerned about Professor Eisner at a later date.

“The rest of the Golden Deer went with your Professor?” Seteth crossed the room, trying to wrack his brain for anyone he knew who could stand in for Manuela while she was in this state. Flayn came to mind, but that was a nonstarter for obvious reasons. He fumbled in the medicinal cabinets for a compress with which to stop the bleeding. “Lady Rhea may be of service, if she is able. Mercedes von Martritz in the Blue Lions class comes to mind. Possibly Dorothea Arnault, from Black Eagles.”

Claude was already halfway out the door. “Mercedes or Dorothea, got it, I’ll be right back!”

Seteth leaned into the compress he’d placed upon the wound growing on Manuela’s side. He made a mental note to perhaps consider appointing a secondary medical practitioner to carry on in the infirmary, should Manuela become unable. It had been quite a long time since he’d needed to administer first-aid, and he doubted that Manuela had stocked supplies he’d once had the most experience using. He doubted even more that she would appreciate an ugly battlefield suture in her side.

Claude came sprinting back inside not long after he had gone, toting Mercedes, Dorothea, and Hanneman. Claude was explaining, as Seteth took a step back and let the trio of mages get to work, that Byleth had traced Flayn’s disappearance to Jeritza, the sonorous and highly reclusive battle instructor. In Jeritza’s room, they had discovered Manuela, bloody and unconscious.

“The last I heard before I left was that they had found a tunnel in his room,” Claude finished. “They’re down there, somewhere, trying to figure out where he went.”

“And you didn’t tell anybody?” Seteth snapped, perhaps harsher than he had intended. 

Claude squared his shoulders. “No, I _didn’t_ tell anybody.” He rolled his eyes. Seteth felt too uptight to deem the attitude worth a scolding. “I told Catherine and a few of the other knights about it, and they went down behind.”

It took every ounce of self-control Seteth had not to go racing to Jeritza’s room, as well, to follow this ‘tunnel.’ Flayn could be at the end of it. Byleth might need more help—

He pinched the bridge of his nose and turned to the small crowd that had formed around Manuela. That last thought had been unprompted. Unexpected. 

Seteth had to take a second to admit to himself that, these past weeks, he had grown to like the Professor. He appreciated her. And, now, he was concerned for her. Manuela was sturdier than she looked, difficult to best, and here she was, flat on her back and bleeding out the side. It was not ridiculous, he told himself, to worry about the Professor and her House.

A few students—Prince Dimitri, Dedue Molinaro, Ferdinand von Aegir, and Linhardt von Hevring, to name faces he recognized—had gathered to poke curious noses just inside the door. The air was tense even when Hanneman and company took a step back from Manuela, who had been bandaged and cleaned up, save for the ugly stain at the front of her dress.

Hanneman moved to mollify the crowd that had formed at the door. “Not to worry, everyone, Professor Manuela will be perfectly fine. The wound was not major. Please, go about your day. There is nothing to be worried about.”

“HEY! _HEY_ , MOVE OUT OF THE WAY!”

Hilda Valentine Goneril’s voice was very recognizable, especially when shouting in such a way in the famously echo-prone office halls. She broke through the doorway, barreling through poor Dimitri, who was not fast enough to clear the way for her. And in her arms…

“ _Flayn_!” All of the pressure that had built in Seteth’s bones for the past few weeks seemed to release. He lunged for her, easily accepting her weight from Hilda and cutting an immediate path to one of the other infirmary beds. Raphael Kirsten, who entered the infirmary in Hilda’s wake, was carrying an unfamiliar, equally unconscious girl with bright red hair. Claude crowded to the rear of the room, joined by Hilda and several of the other Golden Deer, who were still dressed for battle. 

“She’s not hurt,” Hilda blurted. It took Seteth a moment to realize that she was addressing him. “At-At least, we don’t think so.”

“May I look over her?” Hanneman chimed. He placed a gentle hand on Seteth’s shoulder, perhaps in an attempt to spur Seteth into replying. 

“Of course, my apologies, let me make room for you,” Seteth rambled. Hanneman mumbled a ‘no, do not apologize,’ but Seteth barely heard him. Frankly, he was so relieved to see Flayn looking relatively untouched that he felt like he could cry. 

Seteth kept an eye on her face while Hanneman looked her over. Whispers crowded the room with noise, most notably Claude’s low hiss to Hilda, “Are you all okay? Everything good?”

And Hilda’s response: “Mostly. It was a lot. The Professor…”

Seteth perked up, but the noise was smothered by Hanneman’s discovery of a dark, angry-looking bruise inside Flayn’s arm: a telltale sign of blood being drawn. 

Amidst his rage at Jeritza’s violation of his beloved daughter, Seteth almost didn’t notice the students stop whispering. He cut his eyes to the door to see Ferdinand’s jaw dropped, Linhardt’s hand over his mouth… and Byleth, slowly trudging into the infirmary. The Sword of the Creator hung at her hip and her face, from hairline to jaw, was crusted with blood. 

“Pro-Professor!” Hilda exclaimed. “You have to sit down, or something, please…”

Byleth did not speak on her approach, nor did her expression change. Seteth suddenly knew the origin of the nickname she had earned as a mercenary. 

She stopped short at the foot of the bed and did not tear her eyes away from Flayn when she spoke. “As far as I can tell, everyone is okay. They were all breathing when we found them, no signs of extreme injury or trauma that I can discern… though I have no idea who the redhead is. Jeritza was nowhere to be found, but I have a description of two new adversaries to pass onto Lady Rhea whenever I get the chance. I recommend we patch the tunnel entrance in Jeritza’s room right away and mount a search for any other unknown entrances to the underground.” Byleth’s eyes flickered to Seteth. “Oh. And, I am terribly sorry for missing tea this afternoon.”

He gaped at her.

Byleth turned on her heel to survey the students gawking at her and said, “Class is cancelled today.”

Hanneman stuttered, “Ah, Professor, are… Are you alright?”

Byleth waved carelessly over her shoulder. “It’s only blood.”

As she said it, she stumbled straight into Leonie Pinelli, who only barely caught her. “Professor! Sit down right now. I’m going to go get Jeralt.”

“Oh, you don’t have to bring my old man into this. Don’t worry about me. Better me than any of you.” She continued right out the door, tottering unevenly in her less-than-sensible boots. Claude and Hilda exchanged a look of concern, then raced straight out the door, after their Professor.

Seteth hadn’t even gotten the chance to say ‘thank you.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While writing this I was considering how Byleth's actions could change from extreme to extreme to show how dimensional she is (despite the whole 'difficulty expressing emotions' thing), and also slightly based on how, the first time I played this, Byleth almost got taken out by the Death Knight. Those memes about Lysithea being the ultimate anti-Death Knight hit HOOOOOME,
> 
> Also, that trope of Byleth just showing up to offer Seteth tea is A+. Teatime friends. 
> 
> As per usual, I love comments and suggestions!


	3. I.III. - Mistaken Intent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth stops coming by for tea. Seteth isn't sure how he feels about it.

The word throughout Garreg Mach was that Professor Eisner had taken on the Death Knight.

The tale had begun via Hilda, who sang Byleth’s praises to anyone who would listen. Seteth overheard her recounting the tale to someone in the dining hall one afternoon. Though Claude was eager to embellish the Professor’s pursuits at every interval, Hilda could be heard explaining the source of the nasty blow Byleth had taken to the head, and Lysithea von Ordelia’s counterattack that had at last sent the Death Knight packing. 

The Professor had not taken the day after Flayn’s safe return off, like Rhea had requested of her. Seteth had seen her briefly the next day, delivering paperwork to Hanneman and checking up on Manuela; she’d given him that polite nod, but her eyes swam.

Flayn, who was dazed and rather tired, but otherwise well, had pouted throughout the morning when Seteth insisted that she take another day to recuperate.

In the seclusion of their shared quarters, she was able to exclaim, “Father, you are beginning to smother me! I told you, I am perfectly fine.”

“You were missing for weeks, Flayn, and you remember almost nothing!” Seteth’s response came out like something of an incredulous squeak. “I am begging you to get some rest. I cannot hold up my end of our deal if you do not hold up your own.”

That quieted her. In return for a few days of rest, he had begrudgingly promised that Flayn could join Professor Eisner’s class and learn to properly defend herself. She had begged him in front of Lady Rhea and the Professor not to spirit her away somewhere, like he had initially planned to; he hadn’t been able to bring himself to refuse.

Later, when they were in private, he’d admitted: “Flayn, if you are to join Professor Eisner’s class, you must be careful. _Please_. Do not let your guard down. Were it anyone else, I would not be giving my blessing so easily.”

Flayn’s voice became curious. “Oh? Have you made a friend of the Professor in my absence?”

Warmth had spread into his face for reasons he could not rationalize. Seteth chose his next words carefully. “She was very kind to me through the terror your disappearance imparted upon me.”

Flayn had simply clapped her hands together. “How joyous! We must all have tea together sometime.”

A month ago, the proposition would have been uncomfortable, to say the least. But he had been grateful for the Professor’s company lately, and now the thought of indulging in a visit with her and Flayn felt quite welcome. 

For the rest of the week, however, she did not stop by for the teatime hour that he had become accustomed to. 

Seteth was deeply conflicted about it. On one hand, why did he need to take tea with Miss Eisner anymore? Flayn had returned, and his worries about her had been (mostly) smoothed over, for the time being. 

(The answer, of course, was that he had resigned himself to some kind of fondness for the Professor.)

On another hand, Seteth wondered if she had only come to call out of their mutual fondness for Flayn. It was not a fact he was opposed to. There was comfort in Professor Eisner’s protectiveness of Flayn, and it was something that made him feel all the more secure about letting Flayn study with her.

(He was trying to parse through this odd, uneasy feeling, though, about her intent. Why was he so concerned with whether or not the Professor really cared for him?)

And on another: when last he’d seen her, she hadn’t looked well. It was safe to say that she probably didn’t feel well, either. Considering what she’d done for him this month, Seteth figured that he could afford her some patience.

When Flayn was at last well-rested and allowed to leave his sight the next week, Seteth finally crossed paths with the Professor again. She had passed by his office, a blur of black coat and cobalt hair, surprising Seteth enough that he rose from his chair. He sat back down when he realized she had merely been walking by, only to see her face poke into the doorway but a moment later.

“You startled me,” he blurted.

“Apologies. I didn’t realize you were in here.” She stepped fully into the doorway; she cut an oddly commanding figure for a woman with such an otherwise gentle face.

He cleared his throat. “How are you feeling, Professor?”

“Byleth,” she corrected.

Seteth folded his hands together just to give himself something to hold onto. “I… cannot address you as such, I’m afraid. It would be unprofessional.”

Byleth tipped her chin up at him. “Very well. How are _you_ feeling, Assistant to the Archbishop?”

He frowned. “Fair enough. But you must answer me, first.”

“I would like to turn off the sun, to be brutally honest,” the Professor responded. “And yourself?”

“I am much better. Flayn got plenty of rest this past week, and I am feeling hopeful about her inclusion in your class.”

“That’s very good.”

“Yes, it is.” He paused. “Have you been seen by anyone in the infirmary yet? I’m sure I am not the only one you frightened the other day.”

“I frightened you?” Byleth frowned. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I’m still very out of it.”

Seteth wished he had picked different words. The frown was a new expression, and it did not make him feel good. He stumbled his way through, “That is, ah… I am… concerned for your well-being. I do not think I am the only one.”

“That’s very kind of you.” Byleth crossed her arms. “I haven’t yet had the time to stop in for a check-up. And I’m worried about putting too much on Manuela while she’s still recovering.”

“I think it would be of benefit to your health,” Seteth explained gently. “Truth be told, every time I have seen you in passing these last few days, you look as though you’re somewhere outside of your body.”

The Professor’s lips became a thin line. “I… might have a concussion.”

Seteth opened and closed his mouth like a fish.

“It isn’t anything I haven’t dealt with before. It certainly could have been worse. I’d rather survive a concussion than have one of my students endure something worse.”

The implication being, of course, that Byleth had jumped into the line of fire for one of her students. It was something Hilda seemed to be leaving out of her story. Seteth’s heart seemed to soften for the Professor’s fierce instinct to protect. 

Months ago, he had assumed that this ex-mercenary had only known how to destroy. What a pleasant realization, that she could create and preserve just as well.

“Yes, well…” Speech came back to him at the same moment he clocked something like amusement touching the corners of Byleth’s mouth. “I would still like for you to see somebody.”

“Very well, I will stop in momentarily.” The smile persisted as she turned away from the doorway, as if to continue down the hall. 

“There is something else,” Seteth heard himself say. The words had made it past his lips, almost without him realizing. Heat crept into his face as he worked out that he could not leave the statement unfinished. “Would you care to join me for tea today?”

“Oh.” Byleth pivoted back toward him. “I didn’t realize you would want me to continue stopping by.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I mean…” That twinge of shyness touched her features, but only for a moment. “My apologies. I didn’t think you quite enjoyed my company.”

The heat in Seteth’s cheeks raged on. “Whatever gave you that impression?”

Byleth wrung her hands. “Well, I… I am sorry if I’m misreading you, but I didn’t think you liked me all that much. I thought, perhaps, you needed someone to listen to you and provide you a place to exhale during Flayn’s absence, even if that person wasn’t to your liking, but I didn’t think you would want me to keep coming back after she returned.”

Seteth stared at her. So, he had been more transparent than he had previously thought. Shame became the source of the color he presumed had crept onto his face.

He folded his hands around some piece of paperwork before him, trying to refocus himself and gather his thoughts back together. “Professor Eisner—”

“Byleth.”

“ _Byleth_.” Her name felt so soft in his mouth. “I did not approve of Lady Rhea’s immediate trust in you. This much is true. Even now, I know very little about you. But you seem to genuinely care for Flayn. You provided me with something I needed in an incredibly emotionally taxing time, and for that, I am eternally grateful. Truthfully, I had come to appreciate your presence. I do not dislike you. I am sorry if I led you to believe that I did.”

“Oh.” The word was a pleasant little button to the strange mood Seteth’s confession had sewn into the air. Byleth seemed… more than satisfied, really. She seemed quite glad. Another of those rare emotions to grace her otherwise stoic face; rare emotions, he noted, that were somehow beginning to seem less and less rare.

“Thank you for clearing that up,” she continued. “I will check in at the infirmary, and then I shall fetch some tea. Would that be okay with you?”

“Yes,” Seteth responded, feeling somehow warmed by the visible satisfaction he had been the source of. “I would very much like to hear the tale of the Death Knight not diluted by the grandiose storytelling of the Golden Deer students.”

Professor Eisner’s face brightened again for but a moment—had she always been so nice to look at?—before she vanished once more into the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That awkward moment when you actually start to like the new professor,,
> 
> Mostly I'm writing this because I like the concept of Seteth and Byleth being pretty good friends before the romance. I like enemies/rivals to lovers as much as anyone else but *clenches fist* the domesticity....
> 
> As usual, comments and suggestions are welcome!


	4. I.IV. - Rhodos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seteth and Flayn depart to the coast. Byleth and her class tag along.

It took Seteth a surprisingly little amount of time to warm up to Professor Eisner.

They took tea together often now, not daily the way they had during Flayn’s disappearance, but still quite frequently. Often, the Professor’s appearance with her tray of floral teacups was the reminder he needed to take a break, stand up, and walk around. 

She grew easier and easier to talk to as he began to understand her mannerisms a bit more, and the same seemed to be true on the Professor’s end. Byleth became surprisingly flexible with him rather quickly, fluctuating between easy conversation and contemplative silence if she thought he was not in the mood to talk. Her patience was oddly thrilling: that, in those times when she brought their tea into the thick smoke of anger and intolerance that a terrible morning had created in his office, his sour moods did not seem to faze her. Only Flayn had ever been so patient with him. 

Most days, though, simply her presence quelled any fury the mornings had saddled him with. She was calm, diligent, kind, and a bit snarky, once she had grown comfortable enough to let it show. Seteth found that, when he looked into her bottomless blue eyes, he was filled with the almost overwhelming want to tell her every one of his secrets. 

It was terrifying. And exhilarating.

A long time ago, when his wife had passed, he had sworn to dedicate everything to Flayn alone. There was no longer any chance of him spending his life with someone, what with the extinction of anyone else who would share his extended lifespan. He had never quite minded the inability to be close to someone else. Time could heal all wounds, after all. 

Friendship was, unfortunately, just as dangerous as romance: once a friend reached the point where they began to notice the years passing, but never really seeming to affect him or Flayn, it was only a matter of time before things spiralled out of control. There had been some painful exceptions throughout his life, some friends he had cherished and left behind, but it had been a long time since anyone had put down roots in his vicinity.

Somehow, though… Professor Eisner felt different. He couldn’t put his finger on the reason why. 

“You have been spending much of your time with the Professor lately,” Flayn noted one day, right in the middle of supper.

“She is a good friend,” Seteth told her, shrugging off the implications in her voice.

“Oh, my dear brother.” Flayn leaned forward eagerly, resting her chin in her hands. “Do not say that as if I cannot see the way you look at her.”

Seteth just about threw his utensils down. “I beg your pardon?!”

Flayn said nothing, simply returning to her meal as if she had never said anything to begin with. It created a terribly uncomfortable atmosphere between them for the remainder of the evening.

The Professor was a friend, nothing more. It was something he repeated to himself every time someone spoke her name, and again every time he saw her. Perhaps, if he repeated it to himself enough, it would become the truth.

...a confusing habit, at times. They _were_ friends, Seteth thought. But he refused to delve in between the lines. Goddess forbid he feel something else for her that would draw him closer to her. It would be impossible. And it would gut him.

He should stop his friendship with the Professor in its tracks. It was so easy to trust her, after all she’d done for him and for Flayn, and easier still to let his guard down around her. He knew that it would be even easier to love her. Despite the considerable risk, Seteth could not bring himself to push Byleth away until she was further than arm’s length. He would simply have to keep a tight leash upon his self control: something he, historically, was well-practiced in.

Though he loved Flayn dearly, she was not making anything easier. She had her own plans that she did not share with him, but her behavior made her intentions clear. Often, Flayn would wander into his office when he happened to be taking tea with Byleth, she would invite the Professor to have a meal with them, or something of the like. Her conversation topics were almost always hazardous.

“Professor, you are so diligent to keep such a regular tea time with my dear brother. There is nothing more going on between you, is there?” Flayn pressed one day.

Seteth, red-faced, spluttered his way through an attempt at an apology. Byleth, ever the pragmatist, took Flayn’s meddling gracefully.

“I’m sure you’d be the first to know.” The Professor sipped her tea. “Seteth, do be sure to let me know if my tea time habits hazard into inappropriate romance. I will have to space out the days in which I bring your favorite tea to avoid any confusion.”

He always chuckled (albeit awkwardly) through her deflections and tried to squash the tiny part of him that was disappointed.

Flayn’s interventions, planned or not, took an unexpected turn the day Seteth was notified of an insurrection of bishops in the West that had taken up residence in the Rhodos Coast, at the monument to Cichol that contained the grave of his wife. Reading the correspondence had made him so angry that he had gone to work rearranging several days of his life to deal with it personally. 

Flayn caught wind of it somehow; she stopped him bodily in the stables as he was saddling up his wyvern.

“You are supposed to be in class,” he retorted, slipping his favorite lance into his bandolier. 

“You were planning on going alone!” Flayn exclaimed. “Why would you not tell me of this?”

“It is too dangerous to take you with me,” Seteth argued.

“And yet, you request no help!” Flayn’s big green eyes grew silvery with tears. “Lady Rhea had to inform me that you were going to be out for the rest of the week. You cannot expect me to just let you go by yourself.”

“I will be fine, Flayn.”

“You could be hurt! Or worse!” Her hands balled into fists. “You will take me with you. I will not stay back and wait. That is _my mother_ buried there!”

“ _Flayn_ ,” Seteth begged, but before he could commence his own argument, Byleth appeared at the stable threshold.

“Is everything all right?” The Professor crossed her arms. “Flayn, you left class so suddenly—”

“Please, Professor.” Flayn whirled on Professor Eisner, hands clasped together. “You must help me. My brother aims to embark on a dangerous mission all by his lonesome.”

Byleth raised her eyebrows. “Well, that won’t do.” She peered up at his wyvern. “What’s the mission?”

Seteth released a shaky breath. He could not explain his anger or his late wife, not right now. “The… Western Church, or a fraction of it, I suppose, has taken over sacred land in the Rhodos Coast. It is a matter that must be swiftly dealt with.”

“By you?” Byleth asked.

He could not look at her, not at the risk of giving everything to those deep, dark eyes. “I have a very personal stake in it.”

There was a moment of quiet; he could practically hear Byleth thinking until she at last responded, “Very well. I will go with you.”

Seteth whirled to look at her. An expression of finality that he knew well sat upon her face. 

“Why?” he asked.

“It’s important to you,” the Professor said. “And, if I go with you, Flayn will have another pair of eyes on her.” Wheels continued to visibly turn behind her eyes as she looked at Flayn and back to him. “Actually, why not make it a class trip? I’m sure the Deer could use the extra training, and you both could use some backup.”

 _It’s important to you._ The words thrummed in him like a second heartbeat. Warmth curled up into the very tips of his ears. “I could not ask you to do such a thing.”

“You’re not asking. I’m telling you.” Byleth turned to start back out of the stable. “Give me an hour, and we’ll be ready to move out.”

When she was gone, Flayn turned to him: tears crawled down her face, but she was grinning ear to ear.

Seteth frowned. “Please do not cry. Is this not what you wanted?”

“I am—happy.” Flayn scrubbed her face with her sleeve. “The Professor is good. I cherish her pure heart.”

Seteth breathed a sigh and opened his arms to offer Flayn an embrace. “Yes. Me too.”

True to her word, Byleth arrived back at the stables perhaps an hour later with her class in tow: all were dressed for battle. The Sword of the Creator hung at the Professor’s hip: the sight of it sent a shiver down Seteth’s spine.

“We will take more time traveling there without individual wyverns for everyone,” Byleth said. “I stopped by the dining hall and Lady Rhea’s chambers to request more traveling supplies. We can saddle up more wyverns while we wait for them.”

Several of Byleth’s students, Seteth learned, were trained with wyverns: Claude, Leonie, and, astonishingly, Marianne von Edmund, who flushed red when Flayn marveled over how easily the frail girl carried her wyvern’s massive saddle.

“I-I just. I do a lot of flying already.” Marianne busied herself tightening the saddle straps, keeping her eyes drawn down. “Mostly with the pegasi, but the Professor said I should get some practice with the wyvern, too.”

“Teach does know best,” Claude chimed, grinning wide as he gave the Gloucester heir, Lorenz, a boost onto the back of his own wyvern. 

When Professor Eisner’s supplies arrived, it took an extra half hour to strap them to all of the wyverns and arrange who would travel with whom. Claude agreed to carry Lorenz and Hilda. Leonie carried Raphael and Ignatz Victor. Marianne toted Lysithea, as well as Flayn, who seemed particularly insistent on riding with her classmates instead of her brother, certainly for less than innocent reasons.

It left Seteth to tote Byleth. He was glad she could not see his flushed face from where she sat behind him in the saddle. It was especially something when they began their journey, Seteth leading the formation, and Byleth clung to him like a dock barnacle. 

“Are you af-afraid?” he’d stammered, taken aback by the sudden pressure of her arms around his waist and the searing heat that her touch had started underneath his skin.

“Will you laugh at me if I say yes?” she responded, her voice muffled by his cloak. “I’m sorry, please tell me if I am squeezing too tightly or—”

“No,” he blurted, perhaps a little too quickly. “No, it is all right. Do not worry about me.”

Foregoing the exhilaration of flying with the Professor in the same saddle: it was also the first time he got to watch her work. 

It took them two days to reach the Rhodos Coast, taking several breaks throughout the day and setting up camp just before nightfall. While the students circulated various cleaning or cooking duties, Byleth spent the evenings with a map of the Coast that she had picked up before they left, mapping formations and possible battle plans.

“Seteth,” she asked him over dinner the first evening, “tell me what you know about this splinter faction. They’re Western Church, you said?”

“Correct. A new bishop was installed after the mess in Gaspard, but these people followed the former bishop.”

“Noted.” She scribbled something on the page, balancing her inkwell upon her knee. “We have faced these people before, then. I think I recall a bit of their tactics and organizational schema from the incident with Lord Lonato.”

She remembered formations from that long ago? How unbelievably fascinating.

Seteth marveled at Professor Eisner as she blocked out possible enemy groupings, dictating to her students what to expect and how to go about optimizing their movements in the gusty strip of sand that made up the sacred section of the coast. He watched them all listen to their Professor intently despite the meals before them, Flayn included. How mesmerizing, that Byleth could so easily and expertly hold the attention of her peers and subordinates despite any possible distractions.

It wasn’t just him, Seteth realized. Byleth was easy for everyone to trust. Her low voice was easy to listen to, her directions were clear but never demanding, and she had a confidence about her that made going into battle sound like child’s play. 

It made him feel better about these infant feelings he was trying his hardest not to nurse. The Professor was very well-loved, and by most, if not all all. Seteth was not nearly the only person to want to be close to her in any capacity.

When they arrived in Rhodos a day later, Seteth found that Byleth had prepared them more than adequately. Her guesses about the organization of the Western Church splinters were not exact, but they were not at all far off from the truth. With the wyverns in their arsenal, the Golden Deer made quick work of the clergy who fought back from the safety of the beach. Byleth followed him and Flayn up closer to the water, cutting easily through the insurgents who lined the surf leading up to the altar. 

And Professor Eisner, as mesmerizing as she was to every other degree, was deadly with the Sword of the Creator in hand. She had already mastered its use, it seemed: she barely had to break from the small formation the two of them made around Flayn, deflecting blows with the sword’s jagged cross-guard and countering with its whip-like blade.

It took them mere minutes to overtake the altar together. Seteth barely registered the face of the snarling bishop standing upon his late wife’s grave, aglow with magic and blathering something about heretics, before he launched his lance forward, skewering the trespasser through the chest. Over at last.

There was no reasoning with these people. There never was. He had learned that, once, the hard way.

How long had it taken them to clear the field? Seteth’s wyvern made contact with the ground just as he made the attempt to survey the shore: Byleth’s class had begun their secondary sweep of the beach already, clearing away the bodies of the insurgents for burial.

Byleth raced up beside him, Flayn on her heels, to help clear the bodies from the altar.

“Flayn, I would prefer if you did not… look,” Seteth instructed her, choking on the more morbid description of what they had done. He had already broken one of his own rules, that Flayn never again see him take another’s life: not since the war that had almost taken her from him. 

“I can help,” Flayn protested. “I have seen death before, Brother.”

Byleth dragged the body of the bishop off of the altar and heaved them onto her shoulder, her blood-splattered face still contorted in that deathly expression he had only seen once before. The Ashen Demon, indeed. “Leave this part to me. I am sure that you two have memories to indulge in, here.”

Somewhere along the way, he had at last admitted to her that he had wanted to come here personally because his wife rested here. She had not questioned him then, had barely even commented on it, to his immense delight. 

Seteth shot her a grateful look for her continued discretion, which quickly devolved into awe as Byleth heaved a second body, a fully grown man, onto her opposite shoulder. Then, plunging into the knee-level surf, she began to trudge back to shore.

Flayn frowned deeply at him. “You have… On your face, brother.”

Seteth fumbled for a handkerchief and swept it across his cheek. It came away bloody. “I am… sorry. I did not want you to see me this way.”

Flayn shook her head. “Just because time has passed does not mean I do not know what you are capable of.” She paused, taking a long look at the headstone inlaid in the altar. “Once I heard, I… I was not going to miss out on the opportunity to come here, no matter what. I loved her, too. I still do.”

He sighed. “I know. I have never doubted that.”

They stood together, taking in the monument, for a long time, and Seteth thought fondly of his late wife. It had been a very long time since her death; so long, in fact, that he could barely remember her face. What he recalled were the things she made him feel, the things she had taught him, the faint sound of her laugh… 

He rubbed Flayn’s shoulder in an attempt to be soothing. There was no doubt in his mind that the memories were still quite fresh for her, given that she had taken a very, very long time to heal from the war a thousand years ago. 

“I miss her,” Flayn said softly, after a while.

“I know you do. I miss her too.” 

He put himself to work wiping away the blood that had splattered the monument, before his remaining memories of the past had the opportunity to take total control of him.

Mercifully, the artifacts he had left here lifetimes ago still remained: slippery with salt and ocean spray, but still as untouched by time as the day he had left them here, he found the Spear of Assal and the Caduceus Staff still sitting within the great stone altar that marked the grave.

“You are bringing those home?” Flayn asked, her voice near-incredulous. She was standing quite close to the altar now, hands pressed to the stone lid as if her touch could reach the body below.

“I do not want to risk someone coming back here and taking them.” Seteth used his damp, blood-stained handkerchief to wipe the salt from the blade of his spear. “I did not think this location would be a target of the Western bishops to begin with. I do not want to take any chances.”

“Very well,” Flayn muttered. “It will not be too suspicious if we come to use them?”

“There are others who bear our Crests,” Seteth said. “Hanneman will be the only one to be truly concerned about, and I have kept him at bay so far.”

He followed Flayn’s gaze as he wiped the salt from the Caduceus: Byleth returned to the altar, her face now clear of blood, that glint of curiosity in her eyes. The Professor sidled around him to take a look at the Staff and Spear.

“Fancy,” she mused. “Artifacts of the Church, I presume?”

“Correct. Sacred items connected to two of the Saints. I will be bringing them back with us for safekeeping.”

“A prudent decision.” Byleth’s eyes traced over the monument. “I don't remember you mentioning that your wife was buried _beneath_ the monument.”

“It was a safe place to put her to rest," he told her. "She loved the sea, as well. This coastline, truthfully, was one of her favorite places in the world to journey to. We thought it only right to bury her in a place she adored.”

The Professor nodded and set eyes on Flayn, who still stood with her hands on the altar.

It was quiet enough, despite the crashing of the surf, to hear Flayn murmur, “You are safe, now, Mother.”

It made Seteth flinch on instinct.

Byleth, confusion coloring her voice, said, “Your mother is also buried here?”

Flayn looked up at him, her huge eyes pleading. It was a look that said ‘ _please_.’

 _Please trust her._

It did not take Seteth much thought to resign to that silent question in Flayn’s gaze. Byleth was trustworthy. Seteth _wanted_ to trust her. Truthfully, it frightened him that so much about the Professor was as though it was meant to draw him in, but… it felt right, somehow, to go so willingly. He wanted to trust her with much more than this.

But it was a start.

“I suppose,” he began, “that you have earned the right to know.”

Byleth cocked her head to the side. The curious glint in her eyes implored him to continue.

“Flayn is not my sister,” Seteth admitted. “She is my daughter.”

Professor Eisner seemed to ponder this for a moment. With a stern nod, she responded, “I had suspected as much.”

“You—You…” Seteth heaved a sigh. “I thought we were hiding it rather well!”

“You do, most days.” The corners of the Professor’s mouth turned up. “Pardon my forwardness. There are times, though, that your protectiveness rises above that which I’d expect from a brother.”

Flayn shot him a somehow triumphant glare, and heat crowded into Seteth’s face. The Professor wasn’t wrong; Flayn had told him as much many times before.

“I think you keep the secret well, for the most part,” Byleth added quickly. “You do look the part. I don’t claim to know how long you’ve been around, but… you seem to have aged rather gracefully, Seteth.”

 _I’m older than I look,_ he thought, cheeks burning hotter. It was definitely a compliment, but it hit him in the chest like a punch. Could she possibly think him handsome? That Byleth might think him _attractive_ —

He pinched the bridge of his nose, endeavoring to change the subject before he gave into the spiral of his thoughts, or inevitably put his foot in his mouth and gave Flayn more ammunition with which to meddle. Keeping control of himself was necessary. Rather, it was mandatory. “Yes, well… It is a necessity. There are those like the villains a month ago who would seek to harm Flayn due to the contents of her blood. It is safer for her to masquerade as my sibling into the foreseeable future.”

Byleth raised her eyebrows. She was beginning to grow more expressive, seemingly, by the day. “Was her mother so important?”

Seteth tried to search for words that wouldn’t implicate them any further. _Well, you see, Professor, Flayn and I are truly over a thousand years old and we help Rhea carry the weight of a dead civilization upon our shoulders. Have you seen the statues of us in the cathedral?_

Yes, a part of him did want to tell the Professor more, but… but it wasn’t the time yet. It didn’t feel right. He had never confided it in anyone, and he had worked hard to keep the details of their lives a secret. If it was something he was going to tell, he would want it to be a truth that came out in a better, perhaps more secluded, place than in the middle of a sandbar with Byleth’s students standing a few yards away. He wanted more than a few seconds to think about what to say.

Would she believe him, anyways? Byleth didn’t seem the type to laugh in his face—she’d taken the truth of Flayn’s birth rather well, guessed at it, even—but Seteth still didn’t quite feel as though he knew her well enough yet to rule it out.

He settled on, “It has been long enough for few to remember the circumstances, but it cannot hurt to be careful.”

Professor Eisner nodded sagely. “Thank you for allowing me the privilege of knowing. Your secret is safe with me.”

Flayn beamed. “Thank you for coming with us, Professor!”

Byleth returned Flayn’s smile, if only in the barest way she often did. “It was my pleasure, Flayn. My time is yours whenever you may need it.”

“Thank you,” Seteth echoed, swallowing the strange feeling that had burrowed into his throat. 

The Professor dipped her head in his direction. “I would never let my friends walk into danger alone.”

“Nevertheless, I am grateful,” he replied. 

_Friend_ , she’d called him. They _were_ friends, he reminded himself for what felt like the millionth time. It was the perfect word to describe what their relationship was.

What it had to be.

He had been using the term to force himself not to change their proximity. It had been fine when he’d used it. Why, now, did the word from Byleth’s mouth feel so… wrong?

Seteth hung on to the strange, terrible feeling the title suddenly gave him the entire trek home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wheeeeee expounded paralogue time,
> 
> It's funny to think about how long it takes to travel across Fódlan, especially since time is so weirdly placed in 3h wherein you do a bunch of paralogues halfway across a continent that's supposed to be the size of all of Europe and the game, for complication's sake, is like "yeah you can do up to three of these in two days"
> 
> Also. all aboard the pining train,
> 
> Comments and suggestions appreciated!


	5. I.V. - Evening Stroll

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seteth takes a stroll through the cathedral. Byleth is there, too, busying herself with something unexpected.

The cathedral was always quiet in the early evenings, when students and clergy alike were taking supper or preparing for the night’s rest. Lately, when the echoes of his footsteps were the only sound that reached the great vaulted ceilings, Seteth enjoyed a solitary stroll through the empty nave.

It felt… odd, sometimes, to be here, participating in all of it. In the Church of Seiros.

Rhea had created it, this church and its teachings, and, yes, he had helped, but… when he prayed, he could only think of the goddess’ face. Sothis had created them, that much was true, but even all of her miracles and boundless magics still did not feel holy at times. He could not always think of it the same way he knew Rhea did, blasphemous as he was for the mere consideration. Here, in this empty cathedral, devoid of humans who did not know Sothis or her life’s work, he could not bring himself to contemplate anything more than the beautiful, kind woman who had created him and who had given her life to heal the land in which her children lived—who had not done what she had to be worshipped, but because she had loved the world.

To Rhea, to the rest of Fódlan, now, it had been a holy miracle. And, most days, Seteth thought the same. Other days… it had simply been an act of selfless grace from a goddess whose love for living creatures had been insurmountable.

Perhaps it was why he could not take his eyes off of the Sword of the Creator whenever he saw it upon Byleth’s hip. Their creator’s bones, in the shape of that terrible sword… was morbid, to say the least. And Seteth’s deep appreciation for all that Byleth was did not change his opinions concerning Rhea’s asinine decision to just _hand it over_ to her.

Love and devotion to Sothis had driven Rhea to do terrible things. It _still_ drove her to do terrible things. Seteth could not wrap his head around the fully uncharacteristic choice to hand Sothis’ remnants to a stranger. Even now, knowing Byleth’s abilities and her deep loyalty, if he were in Rhea’s position, he did not think he would have given her the Sword. Compatible Crest be damned. 

He shook his head, trying to clear away his useless contemplations. He approached the altar and, craning his neck up, murmured a short prayer to Sothis, wherever she rested, for good health, safety, and restraint. 

A noise from the statue hall caught his attention, followed by a breathy curse. 

Seteth tensed and stormed into the next room.

Hanging from a bosun’s chair excellently balanced about one of the statues sat Byleth, to Seteth’s shock, reaching a considerable distance for a sanding block that had clattered to the marble.

She glanced up at him. “Seteth. Excellent timing. Will you be a dear and hand that back to me?”

He pursed his lips and tried to put together what she was doing here, why she was hanging from a statue, on his way to the fallen block. “Did I hear you curse in a holy place, Professor Eisner?”

She exhaled sharply, blowing her bangs out of her eyes. “I suppose that’s a fair way to address me, if you’re going to scold me. What is my punishment?”

Seteth stooped down to pick up the sanding block. “You may take it up with the goddess in prayer. And during dish duty tomorrow in the dining hall.”

Something of a wry smile warped the corners of the Professor’s mouth. “Fair enough.” Then, as if she knew a grand secret, “I’m sure the goddess will forgive me.”

He blushed as he reached up to hand her the block back. She had discarded her coat, chestplate, and bracers for whatever task she was busying herself with, leaving scarred, pale arms and a fair amount of décolletage visible.

“Whatever are you doing here?” he managed to ask. “There is no one around.”

“Yes,” Byleth responded, “so there is no one to bother me.” She swung around a bit in her harness. “Flayn asked me if I had time to help repair these statues. Apparently they were damaged quite recently.”

Seteth frowned. “Yes, they were. When… When did Flayn request this of you?”

“Not very long ago. I don’t mind. I find it to be a good way to relax and clear my mind, when it’s quiet.” She craned up to sand a bit of jagged marble off of the top of Saint Cichol’s mitre. “They are nice to look at, anyways. I would hate to let them fall into disrepair.”

“This does not have to be your responsibility,” Seteth protested. “It is very kind of you, but—”

“Relax. I want to be here.” Professor Eisner pinned him in place with her bottomless blue eyes. “Didn’t I just tell you so?”

“We-Well, I suppose you did,” he stammered. “...would you like any help?”

“You may hand me any tools I left on the ground, though I am almost done for the evening,” she answered with a shrug. Then, after a few moments’ pause, she added, “And, perhaps, you have some stories about the saints to share with me?”

The request took him aback as if it had been an accusation. 

It must have shown on his face, because Byleth looked at him and raised her eyebrows. “I wasn’t raised in the Church, remember? I am curious about these faces I am cleaning up.”

Seteth breathed out the tension that had built up in his throat. He was glad he had not managed to say anything at the risk of letting something wrong slip out. “What would you like to know?”

The Professor squinted up into the eyes of Saint Cichol, then reached to brush some dust away from his marble forehead. “Tell me about _him_.”

Heat flared in Seteth’s cheeks. “Saint Cichol?”

“He’s rather handsome. Very intense eyes.”

Seteth was slammed with the almost overwhelming urge to sit down. He had to turn away from the Professor so that she would not make it more difficult to maintain any semblance of composure. “Well, he, he was Saint Cethleann’s father. Brother to Saints Indech and Macuil. Not much has been recovered about his history, but what information that does survive concerning him states that he was a rather private person.” He knew he was rambling, but it was all he could do to keep himself together. “Supposedly, he was rather stern. Very protective. He was apparently very close with his brother, Indech.”

The loose straps of Byleth’s harness slapped together as she turned over her shoulder. “So… I suppose this one next to Cichol is Saint Cethleann.” She pointed to the other end of the statue hall. “Which one is which?”

He took a breath and faced her. She did not look at him, rather, her eyes searched the statues’ faces. He followed her gaze, to Macuil and Indech. His brothers: lost to time just as all else.

“The one with the dramatic hat is Macuil,” Seteth said, which made Byleth chuckle. It was a new, welcome, _wonderful_ sound that made something beautifully warm rise in his chest. “The one with the bow is Indech.”

“So Indech and Cichol were good friends. Cethleann was Cichol’s daughter. What about Macuil?”

What about Macuil? Seteth crossed his arms, trying not to think of the last time he’d seen his hateful brother. “He… He was said to be a master magician and tactician. Supposedly more crass, more vindictive, than Indech or Cichol.”

Byleth said, “I hope the goddess forgives vindictiveness.”

Seteth breathed a sigh. “Yes, me too.”

“Why isn’t Saint Seiros in this hall?”

 _Because anyone could probably pin the consistencies between her and Rhea rather quickly,_ Seteth thought. “I am not sure. I was not here when these statues were commissioned.” A good thing, too, lest the statue of Cichol bear an uncomfortable, unmistakable resemblance to him. “You might ask Lady Rhea, on that one.”

“Perhaps I will.” The Professor retrieved a putty knife from where she seemed to have shoved it into her belt, beside her dagger, and used it to scrape something away from Cichol’s high-collared tunic. “How are you, Seteth?”

“How a-am I?”

“Yes. This is the first time I’ve seen you today. Do you often frequent the cathedral after hours?”

“Sometimes,” he replied, “if I am in need of fresh air.”

“I hope your stack of paperwork today was not insurmountable.”

He laughed a little, at that. “No, not _insurmountable_. Perhaps you would have been able to sense if it was.”

“True.” Professor Eisner peered over her shoulder at him, the merest of smiles on her face. “Sometimes I am struck with the sudden urge to pay you a visit. Tomorrow, I shall perhaps be able to sense your discomfort from the other end of the monastery.”

“What an unfortunate affliction that would be,” Seteth said. “I appreciate the time you give to me. Really. I do. You are... a welcome interruption.”

“I am glad you enjoy my company.” She paused, her voice becoming softer as she said, “The feeling is mutual.”

“Oh.” The word came out of Seteth sounding very much like a sigh.

 _No, no,_ something in the corner of his mind said. _This is not right. You made an oath._

And the deeper truth, which echoed even louder: _You will outlive her._

The reminder sent a shiver up his spine. “It is late. We should both get going.”

“Fair point.” Byleth began to untangle herself from the harness. “May I walk with you?”

“I’m afraid I should be getting back to Flayn.” It sounded harsher than he had intended.

“Oh. Very well.” Did she sound… disappointed?

He turned away from her so that she did not have to see the pain he felt: the grimace he was trying to banish from his face. “Good night, Byleth.”

Her voice seemed to follow him into the night. “Good night, Seteth.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah I KNOW there's a statue artisan... but consider... Byleth likes to do art projects,
> 
> This one was kinda just an exploration into how many events or features from the game I could attempt to translate into fic, plus that exceptional "Seteth gets jumpy when people ask him about the saints" content.
> 
> I also kind of wanted to momentarily poke at the interesting relationship that the game/characters have with the Seiros faith; Seteth imo has some really interesting development in that he seems to hold Rhea responsible for the stuff she does in Sothis' name. I was trolling the wiki the other day trying to figure out the Nabatean family tree and I find it fascinating that Sothis is listed as the Four Saints' "ancestor" rather than their "mother," the way she's listed for Rhea, so I thought it would be interesting to explore how Seteth might view Sothis simply as a kind and benevolent creator, a person who was loving and powerful, rather than his direct mother figure the way Rhea does. Religion is super weird (especially 3h's fun and terrible analog for c*tholicism lmao), so I wanted to kind of. Muse on how Seteth might feel about that? imho, you can be healthily religious and still have doubts about organized religion,,
> 
> As usual, comments and suggestions appreciated!


	6. I.VI. - Diatribes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flayn teaches Byleth to dance. Seteth does his best to keep a handle on his emotions.

Every year thus far, Seteth had successfully avoided the Academy’s annual ball. 

For the most part, it had been easy. No one protested if he said he wasn’t planning to attend; even Rhea would not demand his presence or ask him to reconsider more than once. 

It felt too trivial an event to attend: it was mostly for the benefit of the students, after all, and Seteth found that he could take an incredibly peaceful walk around the monastery without interruption, as long as he avoided the reception hall. 

He was not surprised at Flayn’s overexuberance for the ball, nor was he surprised that she begged him to attend. 

Seteth had not, however, expected it to be so difficult to keep saying no to her.

On a normal day, it was difficult to say no to Flayn, but she had been so insistent thus far about his attending the Academy ball that his patience was beginning to disappear.

Flayn, as he knew, had limitless patience. And Seteth knew that his daughter could tell when she was wearing him thin.

She set upon him the moment he awoke in the morning, at meals, in between her lectures, while he was working, when he was on his daily walk—

“Brother!”

“Wh-What!” his teacup went flying.

She ambushed him three days before the ball, in the gazebo garden while he was taking tea with the Professor. Byleth coughed her way through what he was certain was meant to be a laugh. 

Seteth bent to retrieve his discarded cup, then searched for his handkerchief to sop up some of the tea that had pooled in the lap of his tunic. Flayn took a seat on the other end of the table, between him and Byleth, and reached for one of the strawberry teacakes upon the cake tower. 

“Flayn.” Byleth poured her a cup of tea and reached across the table to refill Seteth’s cup. “Are you making a habit out of giving your poor brother heart attacks?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Seteth said, at the same time Flayn very sweetly insisted, “ _No_.”

“Are you all right?” Byleth asked him. “I hope you didn’t burn yourself.”

“I am… fine,” Seteth responded through gritted teeth. “Flayn. I will tell you however many times it takes. The answer is no.”

There was a mischievous glare in Flayn’s eyes when she leaned upon the table, chin in her hand, and took a dainty bite of her cake. “Are you attending the ball, Professor?”

Byleth scoffed. “Begrudgingly.”

“Well, you see?” Seteth spluttered. “I am not alone in my disdain.”

“Claude threatened to have Raphael pick me up and carry me to the reception hall if I didn’t come on my own,” Professor Eisner clarified. “I could take them. But I wouldn’t want to ruin their night.”

“Is there a reason the idea is so terrible to you?” Flayn asked. 

“Mercenaries don’t dance.”

“I’m sure they _could_.”

Byleth shrugged and said as she raised her teacup to her lips, “Tell that to my father.”

“Well, do you hear that, Brother?” Flayn pinned him with a wolfish grin. “You absolutely must attend the ball, now! The Professor needs someone to teach her to dance!”

No words in the world would be appropriate to explain what it would do to Seteth to dance with Professor Eisner, or—or even touch her at all. He was doing his best to squash his feelings. This would not help, not even remotely.

But there was no way to tell Flayn that without resigning himself to the theories she had already voiced to him. Seteth had been entirely transparent, he knew that much, even if he was trying his best to kill the infatuation growing underneath his skin. And he did not know if he could bring himself to untangle his complicated emotions about what he had been: about what he _was_. Not in front of Flayn.

“Lady Rhea doesn’t require you to attend, Seteth?” Byleth asked.

“What? No.” Seteth reached for his refilled teacup. “As many of the organizational day-to-day tasks for the entirety of the monastery and the Knights fall to me, Lady Rhea is kind enough to grant me the opportunity to use my limited free time as I please.”

“And Flayn. You haven’t begged his attendance before?”

“I was away from the monastery until this year!” She beamed. “It will be my first official ball.” 

“I suppose you could teach me to dance, then, Flayn,” the Professor said.

“What? No!” Flayn sat up straighter. “I am not tall enough to lead you, Professor. And, in any case, I would like to be offered a dance of my own. No offense, Professor, as you are quite pretty, but I would like to be swept off of my feet by a handsome young lord.”

“You are too young for romance,” Seteth muttered into his teacup.

“I am not! I am the same age as many of the other students here!”

 _Only technically,_ he thought. Though, if he wanted to go by technicalities, Flayn far exceeded anyone at Garreg Mach in age, save for him and Rhea. 

“Do you have qualifications for any of these handsome young lords?” Byleth chimed. “I would suggest setting some, lest your first dance arrive at the hands of Sylvain.”

“You are not allowed to cavort with that Gautier boy,” Seteth retorted. 

Flayn leaned toward him: a challenge. “Well, you won’t be able to stop me if you are not there, will you?”

“You wouldn’t,” he grumbled.

“Oh, my lovely brother. I would.”

Byleth sipped her tea loudly.

“Fine, fine!” He threw his head back in concession. “Fine. I will attend. Are you quite satisfied?”

“Yes, quite!” Flayn exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “I knew you would bend eventually, dear brother!”

“You wound me, Flayn. You wound me _intentionally_.”

“We can hide from the dancing together,” Professor Eisner said. “I’ve been scoping out the most optimal places in the reception hall to stay unseen.”

The secret in her voice made him smile. Flayn kicked him under the table, setting him flinching and spilling his tea again. Seteth did not spend the rest of the day in a good mood.

When she was readying for bed later that evening, Flayn asked him in a small voice, “Are you angry with me?”

“Why do you think so?”

“Well, you… you have not really spoken to me today after tea with the Professor.” She twiddled her thumbs. “I am sorry for causing you to spill your tea on yourself. Twice.”

Seteth breathed a sigh. “Tea is replaceable, clothing is washable. What I do not appreciate is being strong-armed into attending events I have no interest in.”

“But you do, don’t you? Have interest in it?” Flayn sat beside him and pinned him with her immeasurably large eyes. “I know you like the Professor, Father—”

He stood fast, as if he’d been burnt. “No.”

“But Father…”

“I do not want to talk about this, Flayn.”

“I just… want you to be happy,” she said in a tiny voice.

“Flayn,” Seteth begged, “I will not be happy that way.”

“Wh-What do you mean?”

He looked back at her and, registering how hurt she looked, sat back down beside her. “I know you feel differently than I do. But… I cannot bring myself to want to feel especially for someone I will eventually lose.”

Flayn pursed her lips. “I… I suppose it is a rather crass solution, but there is always the fact of our blood—”

“No,” he snapped again. It made Flayn flinch, which flooded him with shame. “I’m sorry. I appreciate your attempts to help me, Flayn, as misguided as they may be, but… My feelings on the matter are incredibly complicated.”

“I understand,” she said softly. “I am sorry for trying to force it. You… You do not have to attend the ball, if you do not wish to.”

Seteth rubbed between his eyes. “I already said I would attend. I see no reason to renege on it now.” He put his arm around her to pull her into a half-embrace. “After all, what sort of brother would I be if I did not elect to share a dance with my little sister?”

Seteth made the attempt to get ahead of his work in preparation for the ball; Rhea seemed pleasantly surprised when he told her that Flayn had successfully begged him to attend, but she did not protest when he told her that any paperwork submitted the day of the ball would be pushed to the next day’s queue. He would need most of the day to decompress in preparation for how he expected the evening to test his patience.

The day of, Seteth spent most of the day holed up in the cathedral. He prayed for patience and guidance, and tried to think sparingly of the Professor and what Flayn had said to him.

His feelings were… extremely new, granted, but they were strong. It had been quite a long time since he had felt something like infatuation for anyone. In another life, perhaps it would have been easy to ignore the impulse to grow ever closer to Byleth. Perhaps it would have been easy to stay friends.

He remembered their escapade to Rhodos, and Byleth’s hands at his waist, the feeling she had given him, and promised that he would not let himself escalate anything any further. He would not look at her and imagine how she thought of him. 

Seteth would not love someone and lose them again.

In the early evening, Flayn talked his ear off while she picked out what she was wearing. Apparently, her classmates had practically been vibrating with excitement about the ball. Many of them had asked Professor Eisner to save them a dance. Seteth chose not to comment.

Just after sundown, the two of them began the short walk from their quarters to the reception hall. Flayn had dressed in her formal uniform and carefully swept her hair back (accounting for her pointed, inhuman ears) with some of the seashell accessories that Byleth had made for her. His own eveningwear consisted of a simple high-collared coat with gold buttons, dark trousers, and a gold-trimmed half-cloak. 

“You look fine!” Flayn insisted as they walked together toward the reception hall. “Wonderful, even!”

“I feel ridiculous,” he lamented. 

“Well, you do not look it!” Flayn hung onto his arm. “I promise.”

“I am choosing to believe you, but I will be quite disappointed if my faith is ill-placed, you know.”

In the courtyard in front of the reception hall, many students waited for friends and acquaintances before crowding inside. Music wafted out of the open double doors, filling the night with the elegant sound of string instruments.

Professor Eisner was not dressed in her typical overcoat and armor. Rather, she was dressed much more officially, wearing some variant of the formal Academy uniform: a dark tunic embellished with gold buttons and epaulettes, trousers, and shiny boots. She cut a more imposing figure in it, somehow, than in her usual getup. 

Flayn flew to her side, grabbing for her hands. “Professor! You look so lovely and official!”

“Thank you. You both look wonderful, yourselves.” Her eyes flickered to Seteth, taking in his attire. It set heat racing into his face. “Shall we go in?”

The Professor offered Flayn her arm, leaving Seteth to take up the rear of their small procession. The inside of the reception hall was crowded with warmth, conversation, and the vague bite of alcohol. 

Not many students had taken to dancing quite yet, but Flayn made a beeline for the dance floor. She very visibly seemed to explain to Byleth how to stand, how to place her arms, and the pattern in which to move for, he presumed, a traditional Fódlani waltz. Byleth, in answer, swept Flayn up off of the floor and trotted with her in a circle to the cadence of the violins, half dance and half gallop. Flayn’s laughter was audible even from where Seteth had gravitated, beside Lady Rhea and her generously-filled champagne flute.

“Flayn has taken quite well to the Professor,” Rhea observed, smiling as she watched Byleth tote Flayn about the ballroom. 

“Yes, she certainly has,” Seteth agreed.

“I think you have, as well.”

Seteth did not look at Rhea, for fear that she would be able to pull the truth out of him just as easily as Flayn had. “We have become fast friends, truly. I admit that I still have reservations about Professor Eisner’s station, about how easily you gave her the Sword, but… I do trust her. And I have seen her work. She is more than worthy of her position here.”

“Many things about her are shrouded in mystery,” Rhea conceded. “That much is true. But I would not go back on what I have given to her. The Sword belongs to her, Seteth. You will see that, in time.”

It was the same thing Rhea had said to him many times before. _Wait and see. You’ll see, Byleth needs the Sword. Be patient, Seteth. All will be revealed in time._ Her vagueness was beginning to concern him more and more, but he had no way to deduce exactly what it was that Rhea knew about the Professor. She would not tell him anything concrete, so whatever secret she was keeping from him about Professor Eisner was only as relevant as his own theories. And he had very few remaining.

“Lady Rhea. Good evening.” Edelgard von Hresvelg, the Imperial Princess, paused as she passed them by. “Seteth, you look so very formal. Much more than usual.”

“Flayn is impossible to say no to,” he said in answer, lowering his head by way of a bow. Hubert von Vestra, Edelgard’s vassal and practically her shadow, seemed to nod his approval from where he stood, flanking Edelgard.

“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.” She chuckled a little. “I hope you both have a lovely evening.”

“Thank you, Edelgard,” Rhea responded. “To you, as well.”

Edelgard continued on her way, Hubert scanning Seteth and Rhea as he passed with an intensity that made Seteth rather uncomfortable. He chose not to comment on it to Rhea, for she seemed unfazed. He did not need one more unsettling conversation to stoke his discomfort further.

To his great relief, a drink found its way into his hand before Byleth and Flayn made their way to the back of the hall, where Seteth stood with Rhea. 

“Good evening, Professor.” Rhea beamed when she saw Professor Eisner approaching. 

“Good evening, Lady Rhea.” Byleth bowed low. “How are you?”

“I am well. Thank you for asking.” Rhea sipped her champagne. “I am happy that you seem to be enjoying yourself.”

“Flayn is a good dance teacher,” the Professor said, not a hint of jest to her voice. Flayn blushed. 

“I gathered as much,” Rhea chuckled. “You seem to be very comfortable here, with us. Is that a fair assumption?”

“Oh.” Byleth seemed taken aback. “I mean. Yes. I suppose I have become rather comfortable here.”

“I can tell that you are fond of your students. I am grateful that you found your way to us.”

“Thank you,” Byleth responded. “I, too, am thankful. You have been very kind to me.”

“You and Jeralt are like family to me, Professor,” Rhea said. It set off an alarm bell somewhere in Seteth’s head. What in the world did she mean by _that_?

Rhea glanced at him. The surprise must have shown on his face, because for a moment, the Archbishop frowned. She turned to offer a soft smile to Flayn and an acknowledging nod to the Professor. “I will let you continue to enjoy your evening. I hope to run into you all later.”

With that, Rhea vanished into the crowd: taking all of Seteth’s questions with her. 

It was not an unusual thing to say, Seteth thought, but he also knew Rhea. He knew that there was always something more than what appeared at the surface. Everything she did or said had some element of mystery, of metaphor, to it.

More importantly, Seteth knew what had happened to Jeralt. He was familiar with the story of how Byleth’s father had saved Rhea’s life at the cost of his own, and in return, was gifted Rhea’s Crest and a fraction of immortality via her blood. “Family” was a word with purpose: especially in Rhea’s mouth, and _especially_ in regards to Jeralt.

And Byleth was Jeralt’s daughter. Why had he not considered this before? A new theory churned in his brain.

“Brother!” Flayn reached for his hand. It yanked him back to reality. “Are you all right? You look unwell.”

“I am fine,” he lied. “It must be the alcohol. It’s been a while since I last indulged.”

Flayn frowned at his full glass. The Professor didn’t comment on it. 

“I think I would like to go dance again,” Flayn said to fill the silence. “Brother, Professor, perhaps you could both join me?”

Byleth seemed to register his discomfort. She said, “I think we’ll work up to it. As for you, I’d scour the south side of the hall for a potential partner. I see Sylvain on the north side.”

“Ah, yes. Thank you for the forewarning.” Flayn grinned, then hurried off into the crowd of students to find someone to dance with. 

“Thank you,” Seteth breathed once Flayn was gone.

“Do you need fresh air?” Byleth raised her eyebrows at him. “You’re a bit grey, Seteth.”

“I will be fine. Though, I would not mind finding somewhere to stand that is less… er, crowded.”

“Very well. Shall I lead the way?”

“Please.”

Professor Eisner picked a surprisingly secluded spot to stand along the back wall, nearest to the hall’s northernmost exit. Seteth had grown accustomed to silence from the Professor, typically finding it rather comfortable, but right now he felt weighted. Being alone with her did not mix well with Rhea’s last words.

For a while they stood there in that unusual silence, Byleth searched the crowd of dancers for Flayn, and Seteth nursed his champagne until he had drained the glass. He was trying to think of something to say. Something to break this uncomfortable silence with.

The desired break, though, did not come from Seteth.

“Hey, Teach.” Claude sidled up to Byleth’s other side. “Mind if I steal a dance?”

Byleth blinked at him. “Of course, if you don’t mind me stepping on your toes a few times.”

“Not to worry, I’ve got you covered. I consider myself an accomplished scholar of boring Fódlani ballroom dancing.”

“Boring Fódlani,” Professor Eisner mused as Claude led her away, toward the dance floor. She gave Seteth a look over her shoulder that was distinctively apologetic. “As opposed to _what_?”

It left Seteth by himself, peering over the tops of students’ heads to catch a glimpse here and there of the Professor, on Claude’s arm, and Flayn, who had been swept into a dance with Ferdinand from Black Eagles. The former elicited a strange feeling in him, while the latter made him feel much more secure, given the almost brotherly way that Ferdinand whirled Flayn around; when Seteth was able to get a good look at the dance floor, he could see Ferdinand danced with Flayn perched atop his toes, and every so often the two of them would rattle with laughter.

Not the romance she wanted, perhaps, but she looked to be having a wonderful time.

Seteth moved around the fringes of the crowd, every so often catching a glimpse of Flayn’s hair or Claude’s bright yellow half-cape. 

He did want to dance with the Professor. Very much so. But it would break all of the rules he had written for himself.

And, he was afraid that, if he hazarded touching her, he would give into the impulse to chase those feelings to their natural end.

Rather than forcing himself to sift through the complicated feelings the circumstances of the ball had saddled on him, Seteth discarded his empty glass and slipped out of the reception hall, onto the bridge to the cathedral. 

The night air was cool, becoming a brisk bite upon his cheeks as he blazed his way to the cathedral gates. At this hour, the cathedral was completely silent, but something possessed him not to take his usual stroll through the empty nave. 

Instead, he found himself atop the Goddess Tower, leaning upon the great stone windowsill and listening to the faint music coming from the reception hall until the song had changed too many times for him to count.

Many times in the past few months, he had asked himself why it was so difficult to stop himself in his tracks in regards to the Professor, and every time he had no answer. Flayn’s rescue had made him trust her. The way Professor Eisner treated him, during and after that incident, had made him depend on her.

Perhaps a part of it was because no one had ever taken interest in him in such a way before; not since he was very young. Not since the Nabateans still roamed the continent. No one had gone out of their way to make an ally of him in quite a while. 

Part of that was Seteth’s own intention. If he painted himself as a wholly impenetrable wall, a man of structure and no give, others would be inclined to hold him at arm’s length. They almost always had, and it was something he had made peace with. But Byleth had stolen right past that facade, taking no issue with his temper or his strictness, and made a friend out of him regardless. He had let her.

There was much that he still did not know about her. He was still struggling to sift through what Rhea had said, and if it truly did mean something important. Granted, Byleth didn’t know anything about Seteth, either. Not about who he really was. That should have been barrier enough to keep him from intertwining with her further, but almost daily now he found himself wanting deeply to tell her everything. Those thoughts had become a cycle with no end: not unless he suddenly and inexplicably cut himself off from her.

And that could hurt, too.

He gazed upon the brickwork of the windowsill, remembering an old legend about the Tower: that those who met at the top would see their fates forever intertwined. He was surprised he hadn’t come across any students canoodling up here, but then again, perhaps it was too early in the evening for anyone else to think about sneaking away from the festivities.

Was it foolish to wish that he could keep a friend like Professor Eisner? Foolish to think, some days, that he could surpass that barrier of loving her only to lose her? He shut his eyes and said a prayer, hazarding the desire to keep Byleth in his life despite the seemingly insurmountable barrier of his immortality—and her mortality.

Then, as it had been time enough for him to pity himself, Seteth made his way down the Goddess Tower and back toward the reception hall: for he had promised Flayn a dance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seteth sadly contemplates being alone forever > cliche goddess tower rendezvous? I'm jk, I love Setleth goddess tower content, but I thought it'd be interesting if I broke trope for angst,, also i had to sneak in tiny emperor and her bvf (best vampire forever) being obviously weird to Rhea
> 
> more fun angst next chapter! and then lettuce byleth comes to absolutely obliterate sad dragon dad's forever alone syndrome
> 
> Comments and suggestions are loved!


	7. I.VII. - Bleeding Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth loses someone. Seteth begins to give in. cw/tw light/vague suicidal implications.

Seteth had spoken with Jeralt not long before he had died. And the conversation was still haunting him.

Jeralt had been rough around the edges, but he had been polite, at the very least. Lady Rhea had trusted him deeply, which made Seteth trust him, too. 

He had knocked on Seteth’s open office door to announce his entrance, which had spurred Seteth to rise from his chair.

“Jeralt,” Seteth said, clearing his papers to the side so that he wouldn’t be tempted to keep looking at them. “What can I do for you?”

“Lady Rhea is sending me away this month to deal with… something. Some insurrection.” He scratched the back of his head and looked away, awkwardly. “I don’t know why I’m telling you what you already know—”

“Pardon my interruption, but I have a lot of work to finish today.”

“Right. Yeah. I just.” Jeralt paused, the awkwardness persisting. “I wanted to stop in to say thank you.”

Seteth stilled. “What am I being thanked for?”

“Well… I’ve been hearing that you and your sister have really taken a shine to Byleth. I’m glad for it. Honestly, I wasn’t sure how well she’d take to being here in the role that she is when Lady Rhea wanted to employ her, but uh…” Jeralt still did not look at him. “Well, let’s just say the effect the two of you have had on her hasn’t gone unnoticed. She feels really comfortable here, in no small part because of you.”

“I…” Seteth couldn’t tear his eyes away from Jeralt’s expression, or the way he kept his eyes averted. “Nothing is owed to me. Your daughter saved my sister’s life. She is dutiful and compassionate and… and she is an excellent addition to our faculty. You raised her very well, I daresay.”

“Thanks, uh, for that. She just… It usually takes her a while to get really comfortable somewhere, you know? This is the most expressive I think I’ve ever seen her.”

Seteth, trying to still his racing heart, managed to reply, “I’m sure her students deserve equal credit for her comfort.”

“Right. Of course,” Jeralt said. Something unspoken still hung in the air between them. “Anyways, I’ll let you get back to work. Apologies for the interruption.”

When he was gone, Seteth had sat back down, head in his hands, and wondered if Byleth had spoken to her father about him. 

He had reached the point where he could not lie to himself any longer: he was, with absolute certainty, attracted to Professor Eisner. _Quite_ attracted to her. He had been keeping the emotions at bay by continuing to affirm that their relationship was nothing more than a friendship, that there was no possible way that Byleth could reciprocate those fantastical ideas… 

But what if she did? 

At the end of that month, the conversation still fresh in Seteth’s mind, Jeralt was killed. 

The news had come to him at the end of the day. The Academy ball had taken up the previous workday, so much of Seteth's schedule had been consumed by catching up on yesterday's work. He had been cleaning up his desk, lamenting the downpour outside, when Manuela came sprinting down the hall, stopping momentarily to exclaim to him that Jeralt had been murdered while on an assignment with his daughter.

Seteth had dropped everything and run after her, out into the rain.

 _Byleth. Byleth. Where is Byleth._ Her name pounded around in his mind. She had to be safe. She _had_ to be. But even if she was… she had just lost her father.

Seteth did not know what to expect.

A small gathering of the Knights of Seiros had congregated in the cathedral, along with Byleth’s students and the rest of the faculty. Jeralt’s body, draped in a sheet, had been laid out atop the altar for blessing before Manuela, presumably, was to prepare him for burial. Seteth searched the small crowd furiously for any sign of Byleth. 

When he at last set eyes on her, the sensation he felt was as if the entire world had dropped out from under his feet.

She stood near the back of the crowd, Flayn clutching her hand. Flayn looked to be listening to Rhea’s blessing, every so often passing a glance upward at Byleth: at the woman who looked like she had been carved from stone.

Flayn caught sight of him on his way over and visibly squeezed the Professor’s hand, as if to try and get her attention.

She did not move. Byleth did not so much as turn her head. She stared straight on, into some inscrutable point in another plane, jaw slack and eyes missing that lively, attentive spark. It was as if she had left her body behind.

“Brother,” Flayn murmured as Seteth approached. “She will not speak. She is…”

 _In shock, probably,_ Seteth thought. _Almost certainly absolutely bereaved._ He reached for her hand, and Flayn took a step backward, to Seteth’s side...

Something came over him at the sight of her like this. 

“Byleth. Look at me.” He pressed his hands to her cheeks. She was cold and damp from the rain, hair soaked and clinging to her throat, but touching her seemed to send threads of heat through his fingers. Her head bobbed almost uselessly when he tried to make her look at him.

There was nothing in her eyes. Nothing at all.

“Byleth,” he whispered. “You will be okay. Do you hear me? Your grief will not break you. I promise you.”

He wanted to sit her down and detail all of the grief he had lived through; all of the loved ones he’d seen die. How he’d felt when he’d had to bury his wife. He would rip it all out for her if it only meant that she would come back and fill this husk of a woman that stood before him.

“You are still here, Byleth. You are alive. It is perfectly okay to feel all that you feel, but you mustn’t let it consume you. You will never forget Jeralt, and you will never stop missing him, but _time will heal you_.”

A single tear sparkled down her cheek. Something within Seteth’s chest seemed to crack.

“How can I help?” He murmured. “What can I do?”

The words seemed to stir her, though no light returned to her eyes. In a deadpan voice, she said, “There is nothing anyone can do, now.”

Rhea had not yet finished her blessing, but the Professor left; she slipped right out of Seteth’s hands and left out of a side door, no purpose in her gait, no familiar swing in her step. 

Seteth could not remain standing after that; Flayn sat solemnly beside him in one of the pews, listening to Rhea’s voice ring around the room.

The following day, he did not see Byleth. Flayn told him that Manuela had come to handle the day’s lesson. The day after that, Hanneman gave the Golden Deer their daily lecture. And the day after, as well. The mood around the monastery seemed decidedly low.

“Everyone is… worried, to say the least,” Flayn said. “I know it has only been a few days, but I cannot help but ache for her. I do not know how to help, and neither does the rest of the House.”

“Nor do I,” Seteth responded. “I… I have not seen her at all, anywhere.”

Flayn gasped, which sent him flinching. “Oh, I do hope she is still eating and sleeping. Perhaps I can attempt to deliver her something.”

A good idea, Seteth noted. He visited the dining hall the next morning to ask the Head Chef if they had seen Professor Eisner around lately and received a concerned ‘no.’ It was nice, he supposed, that the Professor seemed to be appreciated and missed by all.

It also made him feel worse, though, that many of the monastery’s residents were equally upset and sad for Byleth, but did not know how to approach her at this time.

Flayn went with him that evening to deliver tea and a small bouquet of flowers that Flayn had collected from the greenhouse. The Professor’s door looked to be crowded with untouched gifts: everything from slightly wilting vases of flowers, to tins of homemade candies, to carefully wrapped weapons.

Not a good sign.

Flayn knocked gently upon the door. “Professor Eisner? It is me, Flayn. My brother is here, as well. We have brought you some tea.”

No sound came from beyond the door.

“You must eat, Byleth,” Seteth said, trying to avoid kicking over anything that had been left here for her. “Please. Do not let yourself wither away like this.”

More silence.

Flayn, never one to be deterred, tried the door handle.

“It isn’t locked,” she whispered, shooting a look up at him.

What state would they discover her in, should they enter the Professor's room? All he knew was that nothing could be more important than making _sure_ that Professor Eisner was okay. Emotionally, yes, but... also physically. Goddess forbid grief drive the Professor to make a terrible mistake.

“We’re coming in, Byleth,” Seteth said. Flayn took it as his reply and pushed the door out of their way.

The inside of the room was pristine: a writing desk, seemingly untouched save for a few stacks of old books, a polished armoire near the small window on the far side of the room, and Byleth, who sat on a wrinkled, still-made bed, facing the far wall.

Seteth put his tray upon the bed. Flayn put her flowers on the desk, and then began to transport the abandoned gifts on the stoop into the room.

He knelt beside the bed, just below her, aiming to catch her gaze from where it was pinned upon the floor. He was not sure if she could see him, for her eyes still wandered Somewhere Else.

“Byleth?” He reached for her hands, trying to squeeze life and warmth back into her. “We’ve brought you something to eat.”

“I’m not hungry.”

Her voice was so clear and toneless that it made him flinch. 

“You look like you haven’t been sleeping, either,” Seteth said carefully.

“I sleep,” the Professor said. “When I can.”

“That is not enough. Trust me.”

Flayn had gathered all of Professor Eisner’s gifts upon her desk, arranging them neatly by their contents. She eyed the several vases of flowers, their stagnant water, and gently said, “I am going to change the water in these. I am sure that the color will help brighten up the room.” On her way out, Flayn shot him a look that said _do something_. 

Seteth breathed a sigh. He rose to sit on the bed beside Byleth, careful not to rest close enough to her that they should touch. He was not sure where her boundaries were right now, so he opted to set them himself.

“I cannot claim to know how you feel,” Seteth began, slowly picking his words, “for I have never lost a father, but… I do know what it is like to lose someone dear to me.”

Byleth swallowed audibly. “I’ve never lost anyone before.”

“I see.”

“My dad was…” Her lip quivered. “My dad seemed invincible. When I was growing up, it was as if nothing could hurt him. If I had him with me, nothing could hurt _me_.”

“People we love can make us feel invincible,” Seteth agreed. “It is one of love’s greatest strengths and weaknesses, that, should we lose it, we feel so broken by the loss of that indescribable power.”

Byleth stared on, eyes on the carpet. “I can’t do this without him.”

“Yes, you can. I promise that you can.”

The Professor shook her head ever so slightly. “It doesn’t feel that way.”

Seteth exhaled and tried to steel himself for the words that were about to come out of him: thoughts he had not put to words in several hundred years. “It was—my fault that my wife died.”

Something seemed to stir in Byleth’s posture.

“We fought together, many years ago. We went to war for what we believed in, and I… I failed to protect her.” He picked a point far away, upon the window, so that he would not be tempted to give into the urge to cry that always arose when he thought about the war: about all that he had lost. “I watched her die. I almost lost Flayn that day, as well. It took her years to recover from that incident. I have never forgiven myself for it.”

The Professor’s voice was incredibly soft when she said, “I’m so sorry.”

“How I choose to go on from it is up to me,” he continued, “just as the way you choose to go on from this is up to you. You must know that it gets easier, every day, to think about. It gets easier to go on. You never forget that person or the impact that they had on your life, but thinking about them with sorrow will eventually turn into joy, that you were able to spend time with them at all.”

A small voice in the doorway—Flayn—chimed, “Their love never leaves you, Professor. They get to live on through you.”

“It is a blessing,” Seteth murmured, “to be alive. It is a blessing to be here and to fight. Death is… is an inevitability that we all must grapple with someday. When we do grapple with it, it is our responsibility to find out if it will change us for the worse or for the better.”

Byleth’s eyes flickered up, away from the floor. “What is worse?”

Seteth exhaled. “You let it consume you. The grief and the pain and the impermanence of it all. You blame yourself for not being better, and you wonder if you should be alive today if you could just be dead tomorrow.”

“Hm.”

Flayn, standing beside him now, put a hand upon his shoulder. “But the better, Professor.” Her voice was soft and sad. “You learn to recognize how precious life is. And you recognize that, even though life is short, it can be used to accomplish great things. You learn that every life you touch will carry on love for you, and through their deeds they will pass that love on and on and on… forever.”

Byleth’s eyes did not stray from that new point on the armoire. 

Seteth did not know what else to say to her, and he did not want to overstay his welcome.

He rose from beside her, planting a guiding hand on Flayn’s shoulder to steer her toward the door. “Feel what you must,” Seteth said, “but do not forget to take care of yourself. You need it, now more than ever.”

Flayn took his hand on the way out. For a moment, Seteth contemplated that almost primal impulse that the Professor seemed to constantly saddle him with: the want, or, even, the _need_ to share anything and everything with her.

Admitting what he had about his wife had been difficult. Talking about his late wife was always difficult. Her safety was a responsibility he had shirked and paid for every day since, taking care to fill the weaknesses in his personality with dutiful care and attention to detail. Never again would he lose someone important to him. Never again would he risk losing Flayn, especially.

But why did he feel lighter, having confided it in the Professor? Why did that shame about the past feel… lesser, somehow? 

When he shut the door behind them, pausing on the stoop to brush the tears from Flayn’s cheeks, he could have sworn he heard the clatter of dishware coming from the other side of the threshold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love claude with all of my entire heart but i wish that his post-jeralt death speech was even a FRACTION of what it was with edelgard and dimitri, so here's me projecting on what I wish byleth got from him (alongside my wish that seteth got proper lord treatment pre-SS)
> 
> anyways. lettuce goddess next chapter. seteth will feel more things let's gO,
> 
> Comments & suggestions are loved!


	8. I.VIII. - Like Calls to Like

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth goes after Jeralt's killer. Seteth makes an important discovery.

There was a change in Byleth the month following Jeralt’s death. It was hard to describe.

She seemed… not quite timid. As a matter of fact, the opposite was true when she taught class: at least, according to Flayn.

Apparently the Deer threw her a small welcoming party in their classroom when she returned to teach class, almost a week after Jeralt’s passing. Seteth had listened to Flayn recount the events of it, wherein students from the other houses had also crossed over classes for the day to offer the Professor their love. Someone baked a cake for her. Claude had apparently led the Golden Deer in a stirring rendition of an eastern drinking song. 

She did not seem… happy, though. Seteth certainly did not expect her to be. He hoped that no one else expected it of her, either. 

He expected her to be fragile, to say the least. Flayn told him that she was much the same during lectures and outings, her face betraying little emotion, but Seteth’s heart would break for Professor Eisner when, several days a week, she would appear in his office doorway and _ask if he had time for her._

“Wh— _do I have time for you_?” He had damn near swept all of his papers off of his desk. “Byleth. You do not need to ask me if I have the time for you.”

“I supposed that I should ask...” She sank down into the spare chair beside his desk. “Apologies, I just did not want to be a bother.”

“You do not bother me,” he lamented. “You are not a bother. What in the world would make you think so?”

She looked at the floor, reminiscent of a child in trouble. “I am new at this.”

“New at what?”

“This is going to sound impossible,” Byleth muttered.

“I have seen many impossible things,” Seteth told her. “Try me.”

“I don’t get sad.”

“I’m sure that is an exaggeration. Mercenaries do, in fact, get sad sometimes. I have seen it with my own eyes.”

“No, Seteth.” Though the emotion behind her eyes was only barely palpable… it was the closest thing he’d ever seen to alarm from her. “I have almost never felt sad.”

He leaned in a little, drawn to her as if by magnetism. “I can close the door, if what you want to say must be held in confidence.”

Wheels visibly turned behind those eyes. He could see her deciding whether or not to trust him. Then, slowly, she nodded.

Seteth rose from his chair and went to gently shut the door. When he sat back down and leaned in close so that Byleth could speak as softly as she wanted, he watched her consider something again. 

“If I tell you this,” she began slowly, “you must promise not to think me out of my mind.”

“There is no such thing,” he said. “Whatever you have to say, I will not tell anyone. I was not lying when I said that I have seen many impossible things. There is nothing you can say that will shock me.”

He said it, meant it, but nothing could have prepared him for what next came out of Byleth’s mouth.

“I speak to the goddess.”

Seteth opened his mouth to respond, then closed it again when no words came. It took him a moment to find his voice. “You… You are not talking about prayer.”

“No.” Byleth tapped the side of her head. “I speak to her. Regularly.” A slight smile tweaked up the corners of her lips. “She is yelling at me, right now, for telling you this.”

Seteth considered this. Sat back in his chair. The most that he could say was, “Huh.”

“She is—the reason that I do not get sad. Or… Or happy, really. Or anything else.”

“What do you mean?”

“Jeralt…” she paused, tensing as she said her father’s name. “...he’d told me, previously, that I was a very quiet child. That I did not cry. That nothing particularly delighted me. I do not know why. To Sothis’ credit, she does not know either, but she theorizes that it’s because I speak to her.”

“Unbelievable,” Seteth murmured. “Does Rhea know about this?”

Byleth frowned. “No. I don’t think so, but… please do not tell her.”

Seteth tried to think through the implications of it. Byleth spoke directly to the progenitor god, somehow. And Sothis’ presence had changed Byleth fundamentally since she was a child. 

Suddenly, Seteth had a much clearer theory as to why Rhea had simply handed Professor Eisner the Sword of the Creator.

“I will not tell Rhea what you have told me,” Seteth affirmed, “but now that I think about it I must warn you that I fear she already knows.”

Byleth straightened. “What makes you think so?”

“The Sword of the Creator is the most valuable relic by far that the Church of Seiros possesses. I fear that Rhea gave it to you so easily because she knew of your connection to the goddess.”

“How is the Sword of the Creator connected to Sothis?”

Ah. He had backed himself into this corner. Legally, he was not in a position to rip out the true history of the Heroes’ Relics for Byleth. 

“It is said that the Sword of the Creator was a weapon crafted by the goddess herself. Passed from her own hands to humanity.” The lie always felt sour on his tongue. But it would be worse, at least right now, for Byleth to know the truth. “If Rhea felt that you had been chosen by Sothis… well, it explains how very easily she passed our most sacred relic into your hands.”

Byleth’s small smile became somewhat sheepish. “Yes, I know that’s been bothering you.”

Heat flushed his face. “We-Well. Can you blame me?”

“No, not particularly. I admit I too would be incredibly confused if the head of my Church gave our most important artifact to a scruffy stranger.”

“Well, now, I would not call you ‘scruffy’.” He leaned a little closer to her. “Your… fascinating affliction aside. How does this make you a burden?”

“Oh.” Was it imagination, or were the Professor’s cheeks turning pink? “I don’t know how to carry my emotions, given that I do not have many of them. I was afraid that I was burdening you and everyone else with my sadness.”

“I promise you, you are no burden,” Seteth said. “I would likely tell you, if you were.”

“No you wouldn’t.”

“Oh, yes I would!”

“No.” Byleth shook her head. “Maybe when we first met, you would. But not now.”

Oh, goddess. Perhaps he’d been far more transparent for her than he’d thought. 

He cleared his throat, trying to will away the warmth in his face. “Regardless. Your emotions are not a burden. I am not sure if you’ve noticed, but you have far and away won the hearts of everyone in Garreg Mach.”

“That doesn’t mean that I should let them bear my sadness.”

“Is that not what loved ones are for?” Seteth asked. “You are not expected to shoulder anything alone, my friend. Now, shall I prepare the tea today?”

He’d remained composed for her, tried to make her feel like she could feel comfortable confiding such secrets in him, but in truth, learning that Byleth could speak directly with Sothis was, at best, unnerving, and at worst, completely earth-shattering. 

No book in the library, nor any of the forbidden tomes in Abyss, contained the sort of knowledge that would have taught him why or how. To any typical believer, the power would have been easily brushed off as a miracle, and Byleth some semblance of a prophet.

Seteth, though, was no mere believer. 

Besides the fact that he had promised Byleth that he would keep the information in confidence, he was afraid to broach the subject to Rhea. Seteth knew that the Archbishop knew _something_. He would have been a fool to assume that Rhea was completely clueless.

Nevertheless, this new development had only made things more complicated. It added a new layer to all of Rhea’s cryptics and only made him begin to fear for Byleth.

Seteth chose not to tell Flayn about it for the time being. He would do his best to dig deeper into the mystery before bringing her into the loop. If there was some deeper truth to Rhea’s words about Byleth being family, then Flayn would want to know.

For now, though… the less she knew, the better.

Throughout the month, to Seteth’s great satisfaction, Byleth seemed to relax more and more. The Knights of Seiros had been deployed across the land to try and track down Jeralt’s killer, which left Byleth to throw herself back into her work at the monastery. She still was not her usual self, but she did act as though she was beginning to feel a bit better, likely assuaged by the promised hunt for the murderer. The secret of Sothis added some new layer to her relationship with Seteth, too; he could tell that she was having an otherwise pleasant day if she attempted some joke alluding to speaking with the goddess.

He was careful not to talk about it, not to ask her questions, unless she brought it up first and in private. The last thing he wanted Professor Eisner to think was that he cared more for her strange affliction than he did for her. 

The more he learned about it, though, the easier it would theoretically be to uncover the truth. The easier it would be to present a case to Rhea and catch her in whatever she was doing: however she was planning on using the Professor’s gift.

He hated assuming the worst in Rhea, but… none of it felt like a coincidence. He’d been privy to her obsession with speaking to Sothis again since they were very young. He only hoped he could figure out what was going on before the worst came about. 

In the meantime, Seteth gladly split himself between his work and making sure Byleth was doing okay. Flayn, too, got into a habit of bringing the Professor flowers every day. She was elated when, one week, the Professor began wearing a few of the flowers Flayn had given her in her hair.

Truthfully, it all felt like a calm preceding a storm.

When the Knights at last had a location for Jeralt’s killer, Seteth was the one to receive the correspondence. He marched into the audience chamber with the letter in hand and, as he passed it over to Rhea, he requested permission to join the hunting party.

They agreed on one thing: that Byleth should not be notified. Seteth knew it would probably hurt her to know that he would keep something like this from her, but… he worried about what revenge would do to her. 

Foregoing the new anger she would likely have to navigate on the job, they knew very little about those who had killed Jeralt. Manuela’s autopsy on Jeralt’s body had revealed that the weapon that killed him had been made of some unknown material: something, likely magical, that would kill the Blade Breaker faster than mere iron or steel. This and the recent incident in Remire stank of dark magic, and both of those instances had already been connected to the Death Knight and Flayn’s kidnapping. 

As much confidence as he had in Byleth’s ability, he did not want to run the risk of losing her. Jeralt had been incredibly resilient: unbreakable, and not just in Byleth’s eyes. Seteth did not want Jeralt’s equally resilient daughter to share his fate.

This was all separate from how greatly Seteth desired to look into the dying face of someone who had caused those he cared for such pain.

Rhea opted to go herself, as well. Seteth was not surprised, given the depth of her relationship with Jeralt. Her power would be well-suited to this task, anyways. They were on their way out of the monastery with a brigade of swordsmen when Claude stopped them: he was flanked by Professor Eisner, who wore the Ashen Demon’s face.

_Who had told her?_

“Professor,” Rhea said pleasantly, by way of greeting. “What can I do for you?”

“Don’t,” Byleth demanded. “I know exactly where you’re headed and what you’re going there for.”

Seteth scanned Claude, who stood beside the Professor now. He was likely the one who had tipped Byleth off, and he had the audacity to be here for whatever confrontation was about to ensue. Seteth would not have been surprised if the Riegan heir had been snooping where he shouldn’t have; even, perhaps, if he had caught the messenger by happenstance before they had reached the offices.

“I forbid you from going, Professor Eisner.” Rhea frowned. “Your safety is far too important. These adversaries—”

“I don’t care.” Byleth’s voice broke. “You can’t stop me.”

The fury in her voice was more than Seteth was expecting. It concerned him even more for her well-being.

“There is much we do not know about these people,” Seteth said gently. He didn’t dare call Byleth by her name in front of Rhea. “They seem to have orchestrated every major misfortune at Garreg Mach thus far. We are all concerned for your safety, Professor.”

“So that makes it okay for you to go in my place?” she remarked. 

He did not have an answer.

“Look.” Claude inserted himself, bodily, between both parties. “Lady Rhea. The Knights are all away from the monastery, yes? That leaves you and Seteth to watch over everything here. We know these mages are cunning. You don’t think they might be trying to purposefully lure the both of you away from the monastery so that they can attack while there’s no one to defend it?”

Rhea pursed her lips, appearing to consider this. Claude had a point, but it didn’t make Seteth feel any better about sending Byleth away to what was certain to be a dangerous confrontation.

“Professor,” Rhea said at last. “If I am to allow you to accept this assignment, you must understand the danger it poses. I will not lose you to these people the way we lost Jeralt.”

“ _No_ ,” Seteth blurted. “The risks outweigh the rewards.” He looked to Rhea. “You both know this.”

“I will not lose,” Byleth said. _She_ looked at Seteth when she said it. “You have my word.”

“The Deer will go, too,” Claude chimed. “We won’t let Teach take them on alone. We’ll protect each other and be back unscathed before you know it.”

Goddess almighty, that would mean Flayn would be conscripted into following Byleth to battle. It was not a thought that made him happy, but he surmised that neither Flayn nor Byleth would be happy with him if he demanded Flayn stay behind.

“Very well.” Though Rhea did not sound incredibly happy about it, she added, “You have my blessing. I suggest that you move out at once, before they have a chance to flee.”

This was a bad idea. Every instinct Seteth had was screaming at him not to let Byleth go. A thousand different things could go wrong; there were a thousand different ways she or her students could be hurt. Or worse. Any objection he could verbalize, though, would be useless, now: the Archbishop’s word was law. 

Byleth straightened and turned to leave. “Will do. We’ll mobilize the Deer immediately.”

“This is a terrible idea,” Seteth said under his breath, racing out of the entrance hall to look for Flayn. Rhea looked after him, and for a moment, he wondered if she had heard him.

He found Flayn sitting at the fishing pond, feet in the water, watching Linhardt von Hevring from Black Eagles as he fished. When Seteth approached, Flayn exclaimed, “Brother! What is the matter?”

Linhardt, opting not to take his eyes off of his lure, added, “Hello, Seteth. Is it urgent? Pretend I’m not here.”

“Professor Eisner has been cleared to go after Jeralt’s killer,” Seteth heard himself say. “She has also been cleared to bring the Golden Deer with her.”

Flayn’s eyes widened. She hopped to her feet, grabbing for where she had discarded her boots and stockings. “I am terribly sorry to leave so suddenly, Linhardt! Thank you for allowing me to sit with you!”

“Oh, don’t worry about it. I was thinking about finishing up anyway. The quiet was beginning to make me sleepy.” 

Flayn, still pulling on one of her boots, trailed Seteth away from the docks. “Lady Rhea is just letting her go? I thought you said you were not planning on telling the Professor.”

“It was the Riegan boy,” Seteth remarked. “I assume that he was snooping where he shouldn’t have been and is stringing her along for some reason. I am worried for Professor Eisner’s safety, but my hands are tied.” He shot her a look over his shoulder. “I am also worried for your safety.”

“I will be alright! I promise!” Flayn raced forward to grab his hand, as if to soothe him as they walked. “I passed my Bishop’s exam just the other day, and the Professor has been very good about keeping me within the center of our formation—”

“Nevertheless.” He breathed out slowly and swung the gate to the faculty dormitories open for Flayn. “Please be careful. I will not have something happen to you. These people were responsible for your kidnapping months ago, do not forget that.”

“I promise you, I will return safe.” Flayn craned her neck up to look at him. “Look at me, brother. I promise.”

“...I believe you.”

“Thank you,” she added as they approached the door to their quarters. “You have been giving me more freedom since I joined the Professor’s class, Brother. Do not think that I have not noticed, or that I am not incredibly grateful.”

He fumbled with his key, jamming it in the lock. There wasn’t much he could say, in regards to Flayn, and a ‘you’re welcome’ didn’t seem right. Seteth knew, though, that he would have to start treating Flayn like a young woman someday, and having someone like Professor Eisner watching out for her made this feel like a good time to start. “Go get changed. I do not know when she plans to leave.”

Flayn threw her arms around him, a second-long hug that made him feel warm inside, and then scurried into the flat to change into battle-ready attire. 

He hoped to catch Byleth before she left, too. Seteth had no clue how clearly she was thinking, and he had even less of an idea of how good Claude’s intentions were, given that he had almost certainly told Byleth about this in the first place. All Seteth could really do was hope that her students watched out for each other and for their Professor.

Flayn took only a few minutes to change into her Bishop’s robes: an elegant red and white clergyperson’s garment that cut across her shoulders. Symbols and runes had been sewn carefully onto the cotehardie and across the low-slung belt. It suited her rather well. 

Seteth followed Flayn toward the Golden Deer classroom not far from the faculty dormitories; they found Byleth there with Claude, Hilda, Leonie, and Lorenz, all of whom had also dressed for battle.

Byleth said, “I’m shocked, Seteth. When I couldn’t locate Flayn, I thought perhaps you weren’t going to let her come with us.”

The way she said it… was not quite kind. Seteth frowned at her. “I see you are not happy with me.”

To those who were present, Byleth remarked over her shoulder, “Give me a moment.” She started outside of the classroom; Seteth breathed a sigh and followed her out, leaving Flayn with Claude and the others.

Before he had even reached her, Byleth asked, “You would keep this from me?”

“I know how you must feel,” Seteth responded. “I am sorry I chose not to tell you, but I thought it for the best. I am concerned that your desire for revenge will cloud your judgment.”

“I’m not going to die, Seteth.”

“I nearly lost Flayn to these people, Professor,” he said. “I am indebted to you for bringing her back, but I will not lose you, too.”

“Truly, how very funny that you will not call me by my name when you seek to scold me.” Byleth crossed her arms. “Nothing is going to happen to me, Seteth. And I will keep Flayn safe. I will die before I let something happen to her.”

“Let us avoid both possibilities, please. Promise me that you will not do anything rash.”

“I promise.”

“And promise Her, too.”

Byleth breathed a sigh, but the corners of her mouth turned up. “Very well. I swear to the goddess that I will come back safe and sound. My class will return equally unscathed.”

“What does she think of all of this?” Seteth asked.

Byleth was still smiling faintly. “In the most immediate sense, she was not happy with me for telling you of her initially, but your incurable pessimism concerning my ‘lack of self-preservation’ has made her begin to warm up to you.”

“I am honored. Do not let either of us down.”

He saw them off not a half hour later, trying his best not to crumple from the panic that seized him after hugging Flayn goodbye and watching the Deer’s small battalion of wyvern vanish into the sky. How had it been so easy to let her go then, but now his brain ran rampant with possible worst-case scenarios?

It was not at all easy to keep distracted. While Seteth anxiously awaited the hunting party’s return, he paced his office restlessly. He had tried to throw himself into the stack of paperwork that sat in the wooden cubby on his desk, but after an hour, all of his focus had completely withered away. The operation was not supposed to take long. The Sealed Forest was not far from Garreg Mach, so the students were expected to return by nightfall, if not earlier. 

At sundown, he started pacing the hall beyond his office. There was no way to know what had happened until someone returned. He had prayed for their safety, for Byleth and Flayn’s safety, especially, perhaps a hundred times already. 

Then something odd grabbed his attention.

Though Seteth had wandered down the hall, away from his office, he did not miss Hubert von Vestra leaving the office directly across from Seteth’s: the office that used to be Jeralt’s. Hubert left quickly, his back to Seteth, but the boy’s hair and profile were unmistakable. 

What in the world was the Imperial Princess’ charge doing in a dead man’s office?

Seteth raced to the doorway and peered inside. It was as pristine as it had been since Jeralt’s passing, the sets of armor on their display stands recently polished, fresh flowers upon the desk, not a book on the bookcase out of place…

Except one.

Seteth crept in and snatched up the small leather-bound book. It had been left on its side on top of the pristine stack of books lined up on the highest shelf. He likely wouldn’t have seen it, were he any shorter. 

Was this what Hubert had been snooping in? A little leatherbound book? Seteth peeled open the first page for anything that could help him identify what the book contained, but it only took him a few lines of spindly handwriting to decipher what it was.

Jeralt’s _diary._

Seteth slammed the book shut and did the mental math as he made a break for the safety of his office. 

First, Jeralt had left behind a diary. It was not an unusual occurrence, especially for mercenaries, to keep a chronicle of one’s movements. But a diary from the former Captain of the Knights of Seiros was likely to contain valuable information. Second—and the beginning of the unusual—somehow, Hubert von Vestra had known that Jeralt had a diary and where it was. Third… Seteth presumed that Hubert, much like Claude, had a habit of sticking his nose in unorthodox places in order to achieve his own ends.

Or, even likelier, Edelgard’s ends.

Seteth shut his office door and weighed the little journal in his hands. He wasn’t sure if Byleth knew of the book’s existence, but he planned to give it to her to keep anyone else from snooping in Jeralt’s remaining belongings.

He stared at it for a moment, wondering what information it contained to have caught Edelgard’s attention.

And he opened the book back up.

Jeralt’s handwriting was more elegant than Seteth expected from a mercenary, and easier to read. He shrank against his office door, reading through page after page, and growing more horrified the longer he read.

Seteth had known, tangentially, about Jeralt from how Rhea had spoken of him these past two decades. She had told Seteth that, a hundred years ago, Jeralt had taken a deadly blow protecting her and, as thanks, she had healed him with her immortal blood.

According to Rhea, twenty-some years ago, Jeralt had fallen in love with one of Rhea’s handmaidens and the two of them had borne a child. After the mother had died in childbirth, the baby had died in a freak fire, and Jeralt had vanished, assumed to have vacated the monastery out of grief.

This diary told a very different story.

According to Jeralt: the baby’s mother had begged Rhea to save her child at the cost of her own life, and Rhea had obliged. But, just as Byleth had once told Seteth about herself, Jeralt wrote that the baby never laughed or cried. He had taken the infant to a doctor, only to learn that his otherwise healthy child _had no heartbeat._

Jeralt had told Rhea, upon his return to the monastery months ago, that Byleth was born after his resignation from the Knights. He’d lied to them about that.

He’d lied to protect his daughter from Rhea.

_‘I know Lady Rhea did something to the baby,’_ Jeralt wrote. _‘I used the fire that broke out last night to fake the child’s death. Rhea was beside herself, but… this is necessary. I fear for us. I plan to leave the monastery soon.’_

Goddess above. Rhea was the reason Byleth could speak with Sothis, wasn’t she? 

What had she done to ensure that?

A racket from outside caught his attention.

Seteth found a hiding place in his office to leave the diary and stormed out into the hall. The doors to the audience chamber were closed and surrounded by Byleth’s battle-ready students. 

He did not see the Professor among them.

“What’s going on?” Seteth demanded, crossing through the hall to reach the audience chamber. 

“Brother.” Flayn flew to his side, her eyes wide and afraid. To his immense relief, she looked entirely unhurt; not a speck of blood upon her, and not a thread upon her robes out of place. “Something… Something happened to the Professor.”

His heart rose into his throat. “Is she all right?”

“I do not know.” Flayn shook her head. “We are all still trying to make sense of it.”

“Do you have a key for this room?”

Seteth whirled to see Claude, his hand upon the door to the audience chamber as if he’d been banging a fist upon it.

“I do,” Seteth told him. “What happened to Professor Eisner?”

Claude’s mouth was an angry line. “Solon and Kronya are dead. But Solon cast some—some dark spell that sent Teach away.”

Seteth’s breath caught.

“She’s… still with us.” Claude shook his head. “But when she came back, she wasn’t herself. And she was out cold for a lot of the journey back here. Rhea took her in there.”

Considering what he’d just read in Jeralt’s diary, Seteth was terrified of what he would find on the other side of the door. But he shouldered his way to the front of the group, fiddled for his second floor key, and said, “Let me handle this. Wait here. Allow me your patience.”

Somewhere beyond it, he thought he heard a woman’s voice singing a familiar song. Rhea?

He caught sight of Flayn, still looking at him with those terrified eyes, as he unbolted the door and slipped into the audience chamber.

They would have to talk later.

Seteth bolted the door behind him and turned to set his eyes on the shape of Rhea, kneeling alone below the rose window on the far side of the room. As Seteth approached her, ready to demand answers, he took in the shape of a person in Rhea’s arms.

A woman lay upon Rhea’s lap, unconscious, her distinctly green hair pooling in Rhea’s skirts. Rhea did not acknowledge Seteth as he approached; he tried to make sense of this strange woman, tried to make sense of who she was and why she was here and why Rhea was—

No, he knew that coat. 

He knew that face.

“Rhea.” His voice came out hard and cold. “What in the goddess’ name did you do?”

Rhea only smiled kindly at him. She did not stop stroking Byleth’s pale hair. 

What he had read in Jeralt’s diary… it made bile rise in his throat, made vitriol that he would never before have considered spewing rise to his tongue. 

“ _Answer me_ ,” he demanded. “I read Jeralt’s diary, Rhea. _What did you do_?”

“Is it not obvious?” Rhea’s voice was as gentle, lilting, joyful as ever. “I meant what I said when I called her family, Seteth.”

“That explains nothing!”

Byleth stirred. Seteth lurched in her direction: as if he had been drawn bodily to her.

Her eyes opened for a moment, but seemed to see nothing. 

They were a bright, almost luminescent green.

He did not recognize them. He did not recognize this woman wearing the Professor’s face.

“Shh.” Rhea was still petting Professor Eisner’s hair. “Sleep, child. All is well.”

Byleth’s eyes flickered to Rhea. Then she caught sight of Seteth.

She was gone, wasn’t she? Rhea had done something to her, something unforgivable, and the Byleth he knew was gone. 

“Seteth.” 

It was still the voice he knew.

Byleth’s face went slack, eyes fluttering shut. “I’m okay. Everybody is…”

Her head lolled to the side, her breathing slowing once again.

Goddess above. The relief he felt brought him bodily to his knees. Whatever had happened, thankfully, mercifully, seemed to have left the Byleth he knew intact: at least, as far as he knew.

Rhea, however, seemed suddenly unhappy for a moment. “Hmm. No matter,” she murmured. “All will be as it should be soon. Sleep, dear child, for as long as you must.”

“Tell me,” Seteth said again, his voice weak, “what you did to her. I will not ask again.”

“Our dear Professor is the hope of our people,” Rhea responded. “She is the vessel for the progenitor god. This… This is what I have been working toward for a millennium.”

It was not enough information to understand what Rhea had done, but he had no choice but to believe her. Seteth had only come to the monastery recently; he was not privy to all of Rhea’s occult activities. But he had always been privy to her obsession with the resurrection of Sothis.

That she aimed to hollow out Byleth to make a body for Sothis… 

“This is sacrilege,” was all Seteth could say, rising once more to his feet. “This is… this is unethical.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You have defiled a living person for your own ends, without any regard for the life they would have lived otherwise.”

“How dare you. This is the greatest blessing anyone could receive.”

“Would she have wanted this, Rhea?” Seteth begged. “Would Sothis have asked for this?”

“You do not know what she would have wanted,” Rhea snapped.

“Neither do you! Have you ever thought of that?” Seteth took a step forward. “Her students are gathered outside right now, Rhea. What do you plan to tell them?”

“The truth,” Rhea said. “Our dear Professor has been blessed eternally by the goddess herself.”

“You can tell them that yourself, then. I will not clean up the mess you have made today.” Rhea was at his feet, now. “This is highly inappropriate behavior, Rhea. I will be returning the Professor to her room to rest.”

Rhea circled a protective arm around the Professor.

“ _Rhea._ ” Seteth crossed his arms. “Please.”

The Archbishop did not move. But she also did not stop Seteth from lifting Byleth into his arms and taking her away.

He hit the deadbolt with his knee, pushing the door outward into Byleth’s students with his shoulders. Claude jumped backward, stared at Seteth, and then stared at Byleth.

“Come along.” Seteth started for the stairs. “ _The Archbishop_ will answer whatever questions you have.”

No one seemed to want to take him up on that.

A silent procession of students followed him down, into the reception hall, and out into the stone corridor that ran alongside the classrooms. Byleth slept soundly in his arms, curling in closer to his chest at one point and making him blush. 

Seteth frowned when he reached her room and found her door unlocked. He made a mental note to ask her if she ever locked it. 

The class remained outside while he carefully set her upon the bed. Whether or not Sothis had successfully taken her over, Byleth certainly looked like the goddess, now, her sleeping expression lovely and peaceful, her pale hair splayed out behind her. Something stirred in him, seeing her this way.

With a trembling hand, Seteth moved a bit of her hair aside.

Round ears. Not fully Nabatean. But… something like it, he surmised. There was no research he could do to try and make sense of this: of what Rhea had done. He would simply have to wait for Byleth to awaken and hope that she was all herself.

He shut Byleth’s door gently. The small crowd of Golden Deer on the stoop remained, lingering silently like ghosts. 

“Seteth?” Hilda’s voice caught his attention. “The Professor is going to be okay, right?”

“Yes, I think so,” he answered. “I surmise that she simply needs to sleep her affliction off. If she is not well by the start of the week, I will handle your lesson plans myself.”

Hilda nodded eagerly. She started off the stoop, followed by Marianne, Ignatz, and Raphael. Lysithea, Leonie, and Lorenz loitered not far away, near the line of hedges a few feet away from the dormitory stoop. They whispered to each other as they went. Flayn stood nearby, just within earshot.

Claude, on the other hand, took a step closer to him. The Riegan boy tended to be more carefree than anything else, but right now, there was no give, nothing but deadly calm, in his expression.

“You know what this is,” Claude said.

“No,” Seteth admitted, voice low. “Not fully.”

“Not fully?” Claude parroted. “So you know some of it.”

“I am… not at liberty to share what I know.”

Claude shook his head. “Bullshit. I watched my entire Professor cut a hole in space and time and come out of it looking like Rhea. If you know something, you have to share it.”

“Forgetting the fact that I do not answer to any of Leicester’s ruling Houses,” Seteth retorted, “ _I am not at liberty to share what I know._ ”

Claude pursed his lips and seemed to search Seteth’s face. Seteth knew the Riegan boy was smart, incredibly so, beyond his feckless facade. He had to be smart enough to put some of it together.

“Rhea,” Claude whispered. “She knows something.”

Seteth stared at him.

“Rhea knows _everything_.” A pause. “And you can’t say anything against her without a scandal. Can you?”

“I am a man loyal to the Church, Claude,” Seteth replied. “I wouldn’t dare speak a word against the Archbishop.”

Claude smiled wryly. 

Seteth and Rhea were bound by the same blood: both Children of the Goddess. Two out of three of the last. For his entire life thus far, Seteth had stood beside her and offered her his unyielding support, even when he didn’t agree with what she was doing. He could admit that he had not been nearly as responsible or present as he should have been in regards to Rhea’s unchecked, relentless reign over Fódlan. His continued inaction against Rhea’s selfishness was one of his greatest sources of guilt.

There was always a line, though. This had crossed it further than almost anything else.

Even if he were to forget the conflict of interest that his feelings created, the facts Seteth had still incriminated Rhea badly. She had done something to an unwilling participant, an infant, no less, to achieve the goal of providing a human vessel for the progenitor god.

She had been willing to erase an entire person’s life, their work, those they loved, to force the soul of their creator into a person who had no awareness or say in the matter. Rhea had broken laws, ethical rules, and a human person for her own ends.

“I admit I don’t know what to do about this,” Claude admitted.

“...nor do I,” Seteth responded. He was mollified, at the very least, by the impression he was getting from Claude. Seteth had questioned the boy’s intentions earlier in the day, but this behavior was showing him that Claude cared more about Byleth, perhaps, than he let on.

“If you can’t tell me more,” Claude continued, “I will find out on my own.”

“That is your prerogative, and it is out of my control.”

“Excellent. If you can’t help me, at least try not to hinder me. I won’t lose Teach to Rhea.”

_Me neither._

“Even if you can’t tell me what it is you know… I hope you’re planning on doing your own investigation. Maybe you can stop what I can’t.”

Seteth doubted it—Rhea had been a beast, quite literally, to keep a handle on in the past—but he did have every intention of throwing his weight behind Professor Eisner. 

If he could get Rhea to understand the implications and the effects of her actions before Claude could uncover the truth and start something worse… that would be the ideal. Rhea was not evil. She rarely had pointed ill intent. However, many of her actions were fueled by selfishness or ignorance: sometimes, it was a poisonous mix of both. She felt herself so inextricable from Sothis that she felt any affronts to the goddess as personal attacks: and he was certain that Rhea had done this to Byleth, not thinking of the life Byleth would lead or that she would have her own wants and wills, but instead focused on how she could regain contact with the long lost mother she had spent a millennium yearning for.

Was it possible to get Rhea to see the error of her ways, especially in regards to this long standing obsession of hers? Seteth wasn’t sure. But he had to hope that she would see reason.

In the meantime, he would not let Byleth stand by herself; not against Lady Rhea, or anyone else. If she was Nabatean now, simply by virtue of taking on Sothis, then it meant that Byleth was likely to see an enormous amount of change in herself. The only people left in the world now who could help her readjust were him and Flayn.

Seteth had promised her that she should never have to shoulder anything so cumbersome alone. He was not planning on breaking that promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the game: seteth read jeralt's diary  
> me: AIGHT so i guess jeralt wasn't great at hiding his diary then,, how many more people know that rhea did questionable things to a Child,
> 
> also we're getting into like. the nitty gritty. the big question. (one of) the biggest argument(s) among the fe3h fans.... did rhea do anything wrong.....
> 
> to be clear, yes she did, but also she survived the complete and total genocide of her people so we're trying to be nuanced here
> 
> as always!! comments and kudos are appreciated! Sorry about the big gap in between updates, I've been stumbling through drawtober lol


	9. I.IX. - Keeping Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth and Claude work to uncover the secrets of Byleth's transformation. Seteth tries to do damage control.

Byleth was back on her feet by the beginning of the next week, which meant that Seteth, thankfully, did not have to reorganize his schedule to teach her class. He had made the promise without even thinking of the stack of paperwork on his desk that stress had made him neglect.

The first he saw of her, awake and aware, was that Monday afternoon: she knocked on his open door, and the sight of her knocked the wind out of him.

“Hmm.” Byleth frowned—a real, genuine frown that took up her whole face. That took Seteth aback, too. “That bad?”

“You surprised me, that’s all.” He swallowed. Byleth had always been attractive, _beautiful_ , even, but looking at her now seemed to make him uncomfortably aware of how insulated his office was. “...how are you feeling?”

“Hard to explain. I am closing the door, if that’s alright with you.”

“Please.”

Byleth shut his office door and crossed toward his spare chair. The light from the window seemed to turn her green hair to fire. “Flayn told me that you were the reason I woke up in my room. Thank you for that.”

“Yes, well…” He lowered his voice. “I had little choice, considering the alternative.”

Byleth’s face flushed pink. “I… I didn’t dream of Rhea. Holding me. Did I?”

“No, you did not.”

“Great.” She did not sound very happy.

“I… I feel the need to ask for your account of what happened.” Seteth leaned forward in his chair, hands clasped in between his knees. She seemed the same. She seemed… like herself. A good sign. “I have heard similar accounts from your students, Claude and Flayn predominantly, but… obviously, you would have the most objective account.”

Byleth’s face darkened. “I killed Solon. But not before he killed Kronya.”

“Claude mentioned that name, Kronya. I am afraid I do not have a face for them.”

“She was like Solon. Some… greying husk-person who was masquerading as Monica the same way Solon was masquerading as Tomas.”

“I see,” Seteth replied. “Please continue.”

“He killed her. Solon. He reached into Kronya’s chest, ripped her heart out, and used it to cast what I think must have been a planar spell on me.”

Goddess almighty. Planar magic was one of the forbidden types of spellcraft, for the obvious reason of requiring a sacrifice to cast a spell. Barely any of it still existed in written word, even in forbidden texts. Seteth had only encountered it once or twice before: a thousand years ago.

“I would not have escaped, if not for Sothis,” Byleth confessed. “She said that it required the power of a progenitor god to leave that place, and so, she… she relinquished her power to me so that we could escape it.”

“I beg your pardon?” Seteth breathed. “The goddess _relinquished her power_ to you?”

“Yes,” she murmured. “Claude mentioned, when I came back, that something had happened to me, but… I hadn’t seen myself in a mirror until today.” Byleth self-consciously played with a piece of her hair. “It’s quite a lot to take in.”

“I am sure it has been more for you than anyone else,” Seteth agreed. “My apologies, if my reactions are not making anything easier for you.”

“No, you’ve already been better than most people.” Byleth’s frown returned. “Annette Dominic in Blue Lions screamed when she saw me.”

“Oh. I am… terribly sorry to hear that. I am happy, though, that you returned safely despite, ah. Circumstances. Do you feel any different?”

“No, not particularly.” Byleth cocked her head to the side. “Though, to be fair, I’ve no clue if I should be feeling differently. I’ve never joined with a goddess before, you know.”

“You haven’t? What a shame, I hear it is all the rage.”

“Was that a joke, Seteth? Don’t tell me joking isn’t actually against the Seiros creed.”

“Appalling, isn’t it?” he retorted. The jabs appeared to make her mood lighten; Byleth certainly wasn’t frowning anymore. Perhaps he should air his other concerns. “Have you… spoken to Lady Rhea?”

“Yes,” Byleth admitted, now visibly uncomfortable to a degree that made Seteth feel bad for asking. “She seems convinced that I’m to receive a divine vision from the goddess if I visit the Holy Mausoleum beneath the cathedral. She’s invited me there at the end of this month.”

“And you don’t think so,” Seteth guessed.

“She’s not going to appear,” Byleth murmured. “Sothis is… Sothis is gone. She won’t be visiting anyone in the Holy Mausoleum. Not now, and certainly not by the end of the month.”

“She is _gone_?”

“Well, not… not _gone_ gone.” Byleth folded her hands together in her lap. “When I told you I could speak with her, it was not as if she simply prophesied to me from whatever godly plane might be out there. She existed inside my mind. Our thoughts, our souls, our emotions, have been bonded since I was little, though I think she was asleep for much of my childhood.”

Given what Rhea had said about Byleth being the goddess’ “vessel,” it made sense. But Seteth still had no idea how to go about figuring out what, exactly, Rhea had done to accomplish this. “So, you are saying that the two of you, what, fused? I apologize for the imperfect term, but I cannot think of any better way to phrase it.”

“No, that’s what I think I would call it. That is what it felt like, when it happened.” She stared at her boots. “In any case, I cannot hear her anymore. I think she and I have become so tightly intertwined that there is no telling where she begins or I end. Rhea will be… disappointed, to say the least.”

“Fascinating,” he murmured. He did not tell her that it was probably a good thing to disappoint Rhea, on this particular subject. “I am going to do my best to understand what caused this. Your connection with the goddess, as well as this—” he gestured to her, “—development. Am I correct to assume that you wish to understand it, as well?”

“Well, yes. I can’t imagine not questioning it. Why me, I mean.”

“I think it wise to try and dredge more out of Lady Rhea, if possible,” Seteth mused. “I spoke briefly with Claude when you returned from the forest, and he plans to do much of the same.”

Byleth raised her eyebrows. “ _You’re_ collaborating with _Claude_? I never thought I’d see the day.”

“Well,” Seteth spluttered, “we have a similar goal. Though I suspect that my methods will be a bit less clandestine than his.”

Byleth seemed to search his face. “Seteth… I can't believe you’re picking me over Rhea.”

“Do not mistake me,” he said, “I have no plans to actively work against Rhea. The worst things she has done, she has done with good, albeit incredibly misguided, intentions.” Seteth paused. Warmth crept into his face as he added, “But yes. I am choosing you this time.”

“Why?”

The answer contained talk of the chaotic mix of Seteth’s feelings and the borderline disgust Rhea’s actions had saddled upon him. He did not want to give Byleth an impartial truth: and that meant omitting much of what he already knew. “...are you aware that Jeralt left behind a diary?”

Byleth tensed. “Yes. I am aware. You went snooping in his office?”

“Yes and no.” Seteth sat back in his chair to go rifling through his desk drawers. “I caught someone else snooping in Jeralt’s office. I apologize for the breach of privacy, but that person’s interest in it implied that Jeralt had chronicled things too important to ignore.”

He fished Jeralt’s diary out from where he’d hidden it, between a stack of blank parchment and a row of spare inkwells. When he handed it back to Byleth, she drew it in close to her chest. “Who was the snoop?”

“Hubert von Vestra. Black Eagles. I would not be surprised if the Imperial Princess has taken interest in you, though I can’t say I have any clue as to what she would have Hubert go digging for.” 

“How did Hubert even know it was there?”

“I am at a loss on that front. As I said, I admit that I did read through it, and I apologize. But it incriminates Rhea quite a lot,” Seteth told her. “Enough that I… I did not so much as consider taking her side on the subject.”

Byleth seemed to mull that over. After a moment of silence—and Seteth was glad to know that he could still practically see her thinking—she said, “So you think she did do something to me as a baby.”

“I am not ruling it out. Though, I admit… I have no idea where to start. I know Rhea will not tell me if I ask her directly.”

“You don’t think Jeralt was just paranoid? That I’m the way I am just out of some happenstance?”

“Do you?” Seteth asked.

“I don’t know,” Byleth admitted. “I trust Jeralt. I trust his judgment completely, even postmortem. I will admit that I have always felt somewhat leery of Lady Rhea for reasons I can’t really explain, but I do not want to risk accusing her of something that sounds so far-fetched.”

“Well, your father had one piece of very strange proof,” Seteth responded. “Have you had your pulse taken recently?”

“Hm. I suppose I haven’t.”

Heat warmed him to the tips of his ears as Seteth heard himself say, “May I?”

It wasn’t his imagination; Byleth’s face was red. “Ve-Very well.” 

The air between them stilled as Seteth sat forward in his chair and reached to press his palm to Byleth’s throat. He thought he heard her catch her breath. Beneath his fingers, warmed by her skin, he could feel a pulse jumping. 

He tried not to imagine sliding his hand further into her hair, tried not to wonder what it would feel like to cradle her closer, to breathe her in—

“Well, you, ah, have a pulse,” he said, jerking backward and clearing his throat mid-phrase. “That is a good sign.”

 _No heartbeat._ The phrase echoed around in Seteth’s head. He peered up at Byleth, looking for permission to get closer to her.

“Go ahead,” she whispered.

His own heart thundered in his chest as he leaned in to press his ear under her collarbone. 

Perhaps he was not close enough—he was doing his best to keep the unnatural shape of his ear from making an impression upon her skin—but he heard nothing. He listened for a long moment, thinking, perhaps, that he had not picked the right spot to listen from, or that his shallow breaths were blocking out the noise, but what Jeralt had written seemed to be true.

“Well?” Byleth asked. 

“Jeralt seems to have spoken true.” Seteth drew back, feeling winded, his face warm from her skin and from how the proximity had made his stomach jump. “I can hear no heartbeat.”

“Terrifying,” Byleth said, though she did not seem anything besides tired. “I pray Rhea didn’t rip my heart out, or something of the like.”

“Likewise.” Seteth pulled his hands in close to him, still practically electrified from the memory of Byleth’s skin. Joining with the goddess had not changed her face, her voice, or her mannerisms, but somehow she was even more difficult to look at than before. As if she were the sun itself. 

He cleared his throat again and added, “If you need anything from me, you need only ask. I will do my best to pick Rhea’s brain about this and see what she might let slip. For now, I suggest that you, respectfully, play dumb. Let me see what I can find out before either of us does anything rash.”

“That’s just what I was thinking of doing,” Byleth answered. “I do not dislike Rhea, Seteth, but… She is the last person in the world whom I trust right now.”

He sighed. “Unfortunately, I do not blame you. I do ask, though, that you try to find some patience for her until we have uncovered the truth. Spend some time with her, perhaps, if you feel comfortable doing that. It is as I said: I have rarely seen Rhea act on malice. She can be selfish and single-minded, but she is not cruel.”

Byleth shifted uncomfortably. “I will withhold my judgment until I know what’s wrong with me.”

“Oh, hush. There is nothing wrong with you,” he said.

“Not yet.”

“Not at all. You are alive, aren’t you?” Seteth tried to smile. “The heartbeat is but a minor issue until further notice.”

“If you say so,” Byleth replied, rising from her chair. “Would you like some tea? I think I’d like some tea. I want to stretch out this feeling of everything being vaguely normal for just a bit longer.”

Part of him felt bad for, essentially, lying to Byleth about what he already knew. After supper that day, explaining everything to Flayn only made him feel worse about it, despite the surety with which he felt that he was making the right choices.

“Lady Rhea… _made_ the Professor into a vessel for the goddess?” Flayn frowned deeply. “I do not understand how she could manage such a thing.”

Seteth paced near their flat’s window. “Me neither. I do not know why she chose to do this, either. Frankly, I cannot look at her the same, knowing that she did this to Professor Eisner, let alone while she was an infant.”

“Well… Lady Rhea has always been… determined to get her way,” Flayn said. “I recall, during the war, it was her way or no way at all.”

“Yes, I remember.”

“Did you tell the Professor this? That Lady Rhea told you her intentions?”

“No,” Seteth admitted. “I did not.”

“Well, why not?”

“I am not happy about this, Flayn,” Seteth answered. “Let me begin with that. But I want the whole truth out of Rhea before I posit anything to Professor Eisner. I do not want to create undue turmoil, and I know that the incomplete truth will do that.”

Flayn’s frown persisted. “I do not understand.”

“If Rhea does not see the error of her ways, if she does not understand how deeply she violated someone’s life, I fear that the Professor will not be able to forgive her. Rhea undoubtedly did this for selfish reasons. We both know she still bears open wounds from Zanado. I cannot think of any other reason that she would desire to reincarnate Sothis other than the same reason she created the Church.”

Flayn swung her legs absentmindedly from where she sat, on the loveseat between two bookcases on the far side of the room. “I see. So you fear that, should Lady Rhea not express remorse and acknowledge the Professor’s autonomy as her own, Professor Eisner...”

“She may do irreparable damage,” Seteth finished. “To herself and to the Church. She would not understand Rhea’s motivations, and frankly, I would not expect her to. Likewise, if Rhea continues to see her only as a body, she will see Byleth’s rejection of her plans as an affront. She was already unhappy to learn that Byleth was still herself when she awoke. Effectively, if the worst should come about, we will be asked to go to war against a dear friend, no matter which side we should choose.”

“I do not want to do that,” Flayn murmured.

“Nor do I. So I am endeavoring to change Rhea’s mind in private. If either of us can endear them to each other, then, Rhea may begin to see Byleth for who she is. It may even repair Byleth’s mistrust of her. The truth might come out on its own, and Rhea may take the responsibility for it that she should.”

“I suppose that may work. But how do you suggest we go about it?”

“I… have not gotten that far yet.”

“Hm. We shall brainstorm together, then.” Flayn’s cheeks went pink. “Um, Father. The Professor is… like us now, is she not?”

“That is what Rhea made it sound like,” Seteth responded, remembering the dreaminess with which Rhea called Byleth their ‘family.’ 

“Do you suppose she can shift?” Flayn jumped to her feet. “Have you caught sight of her ears? Maybe her blood has changed, too!”

“No change to the ears, I can tell you that much,” Seteth responded. Flayn’s sudden excitement at the prospect of another Nabatean, though, made him smile a bit.

“Father.” Flayn looked at him with wide eyes. “Do you suppose she lives as long as we do, now?”

For a moment, Seteth forgot how to breathe. He hadn’t thought about that. “I… I have no idea, Flayn.”

“Does she know about us? Did you tell her?”

Seteth, still waist-deep in the realization that Byleth might share his lifespan now, stammered, “No, o-of course not. Explaining us and where we come from would only lead to explaining what Rhea has done. Make no mistake, I plan to tell her, but… not yet.”

“I do not like keeping such secrets from the Professor,” Flayn said, “especially now that she is one of us.”

“Neither do I, Flayn, but I would like to preserve both her and Rhea, ideally.”

He did not adore the idea of trying to explain the deeper implications of being the last of their race to Flayn. She understood it in part—that their culture would be lost to history if they did not find a way to revive it—but not when it came to Rhea’s mad attempts at preservation. 

Seteth, Flayn, his wife, and his brothers had narrowly avoided being caught in the genocide of the Nabateans, but it left them with the undesirable task of carrying on an otherwise lost civilization. He had lost his wife to the war, and Macuil and Indech had vanished into the horizon many _many_ years ago, leaving Seteth, Flayn, and Rhea to face humanity with not much to go off of. 

Rather than putting their heads together to figure out a way to re-cultivate Nabatea somewhere, or at least preserve their city, Rhea had scrapped all of Nemesis’ atrocities and completely reshaped history. 

To Rhea’s credit, the three of them had been a complete mess at the time. Seteth had just lost his wife, and Flayn had already gone completely under to try to heal her injuries. Rhea, emptied of her rage by Nemesis’s death, had not had much left to give the humans who had pledged to help them avenge the goddess. All that he and Rhea had been thinking of was staying safe: avoiding another Red Canyon. It had resulted in the founding of Adrestia. It had resulted in Seteth draining a bit of his blood to give as a gift to the new Empire; a Saint’s blessing, and an accursed beginning to the Crest system and the Fódlan they lived in now.

Much of it, like the Crests, had been a necessary evil at the time to keep themselves safe, but the system had long since snowballed out of control. Seteth knew that Rhea had no love for the human Crest system, but she had taken advantage of it. A thousand years had been plenty of time to reverse the damage they had done. The story that had kept them safe from power-hungry humans like Nemesis and the Ten Elites was now, effectively, the pile of literal and metaphorical bones that made up the very foundation of the Church. 

Rhea had bent the continent around Sothis, around them, and placed herself very neatly at the top of the food chain, where any questioning of the system would lead to excommunication—or execution. For the first several centuries, Seteth had kept himself and Flayn far enough from Rhea that he had not been privy to much of the groundwork she had laid, but he had also not been close enough to her to try and steer her into wiser, kinder decisions. It made his relationship with Rhea deeply complicated, to say the least, and Flayn had avoided much of the politics between them simply by virtue of how long she had spent recovering from the war. 

Perhaps that was why he felt so protective of Byleth now. She was new to their millennium-long struggle to survive and persist, new to the Seiros creed and the Crest system and the Heroes’ Relics. She had not deserved the forced introduction to it all, much less the forced assimilation. Seteth had to give Jeralt some credit, given that he had sheltered his daughter from the Church’s world until her adulthood. 

In the end, Seteth had cared about Byleth before he had known about Rhea’s involvement in her life. And realizing how forcibly she was being yanked into his world only made him feel more strongly about her. _For_ her.

As deeply as he hated Rhea’s methods and the world she had mistakenly created, he could never bring himself to hate _her_. Rhea was part of the very last scraps of his family: she still deserved to be loved, even when she did unspeakably selfish things. However, that also made it Seteth’s duty to hold her responsible. It made it his responsibility to make sure Rhea atoned for her mistakes and vowed to make a change.

He had done an immeasurably poor job up until now, and he was ashamed to have no excuse for his aforementioned leniency. But perhaps Byleth’s involvement was the linchpin he needed.

Luckily for Seteth, it was never too late for anything. Not with his lifespan.

“Father.” Flayn’s voice ripped him into the present. She sounded impatient. “Are you listening to me?”

“I’m sorry,” he blurted. “I was… I was somewhere else. I’m sorry. What were you saying?”

Flayn pursed her lips. “I was saying that I am glad you have taken so kindly to the Professor. Truthfully, I care for her dearly.”

Seteth swallowed. “You know that I do as well.”

“I… I have never felt very close to Lady Rhea, I am sorry to say, and that is perhaps because I have not spent a great deal of my life in her vicinity,” Flayn continued, playing almost nervously with a stray lock of curly hair. “Though the same may be true of the Professor, that I have not known her long at all, I do feel cared about by her in return. I am grateful you are sharing this all with me, and grateful even more that you and I seem to feel the same about it.”

Seteth wasn’t sure what to say to that, and all hope of a response left him at Flayn’s next few words.

“If I may be so bold, Father, I do not wish to force you to talk to me about it, but… if Professor Eisner were to become a bigger part of our lives someday, I think I would be very glad.”

The allusion in those words made his heart ache.

Throughout the month, Seteth sat with the conversation and tried his best to pry Rhea’s plans apart. The Archbishop was unhelpful at best: openly a hindrance at worst.

She would not answer his questions, even in private, when he was able to ask her in complete candor why the Professor’s heart did not beat.

On good days, when he begged and pleaded for answers, Rhea all but ignored him. On bad days, when Seteth lost his patience quickly, a normally sweet-tempered Rhea often snapped at him for his insubordination and banned him from her chambers for the remainder of the day.

It did not make him hopeful for the truth. If Rhea was keeping this secret so close, it meant that she was almost certainly afraid of the consequences. 

Perhaps that was a step in the right direction?

Hopefully?

Meanwhile, every time he saw Byleth, his heart seemed to go running away from him. He had not stopped thinking about what changes this transformation had made to her: had not stopped wondering what about her was different now. She was, by all accounts, still herself—still deeply compassionate, attentive, and a tad snide—but Seteth had noticed some differences in her that had seemed too egregious to ignore. She’d smiled at him the other day, a real smile, and he’d just about forgotten how to breathe.

There was no way to know if she lived as long as him or Flayn now, but if she did? Goddess almighty, he was done for. He had not felt infatuation like this since his wife had lived, and the only thread still holding his self control together was the impossibility of loving a mortal. The very idea that Byleth was a Nabatean on nearly every account had made him stop fighting the feelings off almost all at once. Already, every time he looked at her, he thought about how easy it would be to love her. 

He thought almost daily about what Flayn had said: that she, too, loved Byleth enough that she would welcome it if Seteth should give in to the dormant, thousand-year-old adoration he thought he had locked away.

Fantasizing about a future, though, would be useless if he could not get a firm handle on the present. 

To complicate his plans further, a factor he’d forgotten about added itself to the equation at the end of the month. The afternoon of Byleth’s visit to the Holy Tomb, Claude waltzed into Seteth’s office. 

Seteth started. “...typically, it is polite to knock before you enter someone else’s space.”

“Too late.” Claude kicked the door shut. “Any progress?”

“I was unaware that it was necessary for me to report my comings and goings to you.”

“At this point, I’m kind of done asking for permission to get done what needs to get done. And you already agreed to help.” Claude crossed his arms. “I assume that you’ll be down in the Tomb today, too. I don’t see why Rhea would neglect to invite her second.”

“She is not very happy with me as of late, but my invitation has not been rescinded yet,” Seteth answered.

“Oh?” Claude meandered up to Seteth’s desk and pinned him with a coy grin. “Finally punching up, are we?”

“Not remotely.” Seteth frowned. He had to be careful with his words: he had no proof that Claude wouldn’t run to tell whatever he said to Byleth, so the information would have to match. “I must ask how much your professor has told you.”

“Well, you know. This and that.” Claude raised an eyebrow. “Are we about to test each other on how much Teach has told either of us?”

Seteth crossed his arms and met Claude’s stare. After a moment of choosing his words carefully amidst the tense silence, he said, “Do you pray often, Claude? I am sure you would enjoy a direct conversation with the goddess.”

Claude grinned. “Praying? Not really. Though, you could say I talk to the goddess every day.”

“Did you figure that out yourself, or did Professor Eisner tell you?”

“A little bit of both.” Claude shrugged. “Can’t expect me not to ask questions after you come out of another plane with the face of the Archbishop. Just leaves me to find out what Rhea is.”

Seteth tensed. “Why don’t you ask her yourself?”

“Not a chance, old man. I’ve got too much to live for.” Claude circled around his desk to the chair beside the drafting table. “And you? I assume Teach told you herself.”

“I did not theorize anything, or ask her, or anything of the sort, if that is what you are implying. It was something she simply chose to share with me.”

“Fun.” Claude surveyed the desk, green eyes missing nothing. “So you know about that. Something tells me that, the last time we spoke, your discretion was for something else.”

“I did not tell anyone what Byl—the Professor chose to share with me, and I had no plans to,” Seteth said hotly.

“Oh? Not even Rhea?”

“No, not even Rhea.”

“Have you considered that she already knows?”

Seteth squinted at Claude. The boy’s relaxed posture did not soften the accusations in his eyes. He remembered Claude flanking Byleth when she had approached Rhea about going after Jeralt’s killer. Claude had undoubtedly been the one to tell her something he, by all accounts, should not have known.

Seteth suspected that Claude had been snooping elsewhere, too. It was a dangerous guess to make, but Seteth fired his own accusation out. “You’ve read Jeralt’s diary, then?”

“Oh, hello! Here we go.” Claude leaned forward in his chair. “So have you, I take it.”

“I did not go snooping in his office the way I suspect you did,” Seteth retorted. “Rather, I found someone there that was not supposed to be there. I took the book into my care until I could return it to the Professor but, yes, I have read it.”

“That’s interesting. Who’s our other sleuth?”

“I suspect that Edelgard is up to something.” 

“Edelgard wouldn’t go in there and do her own dirty work,” Claude said. “It was probably Hubert, wasn’t it?”

“Astute of you,” Seteth answered.

“Hubert has no will of his own. Anything he does is automatically for Edelgard, and I don’t care what it is. He wouldn’t wipe his ass without her okay. Pardon me.”

Seteth bristled. “In any case. Edelgard is a separate problem than Professor Eisner’s… condition.”

“Agreed.” Claude twisted his braid absentmindedly. “I think Teach has told me most of what she knows. But, like I said, I think what you’re keeping from both of us has to do with Rhea.”

“Understand, Claude, that there are many more forces at play than you believe. Contrary to what you believe, I do not have all of the information about what has happened to your professor. I think I have about three-fourths of the story.” Seteth paused. “I am fairly certain that, if what I know is aired, it will hurt the Professor _deeply_.”

Claude seemed to stiffen.

“I want to avoid that at all costs, as I am sure you do, as well. I feel the need to wait until I have every piece of this puzzle,” Seteth continued. “Rhea is… a very complicated person. And I admit that I have not done my due diligence in trying to steer her in the right direction.”

“Well, all right.” Claude shrugged. “That’s one for you, I guess.”

“Pardon me?”

“I was beginning to think that you were ignoring how complicit you are,” Claude answered. “What with the, the outright murder of anyone Rhea doesn’t agree with, and all the exhuming of any literature that doesn’t parallel the Seiros creed, and—”

“That’s enough.” Seteth was beginning to lose his patience. “Remember your place, Claude.”

“Like I ever forget it.”

“...yes, I have been complicit. Do not think for a moment that I am proud of it.”

“Respectfully? Do better if you want me to believe that.” Claude was frowning when Seteth looked at him. After a moment, Claude waved his hand carelessly. “Please, continue.”

Seteth ground his teeth. “...Lady Rhea is incredibly complicated. I do not claim to fully agree with her motivations, but I do understand them. However, I do not believe that she sees the Professor as her own person with her own autonomy. I believe that she is trying to covet complete control over Professor Eisner, and that if either of them fail to understand each other, it will result in catastrophic losses for both sides.”

“Marvelous. I hope you’re working on a solution to that, then.”

“Daily, in fact,” Seteth remarked. “Mark my words, I do not like any of this. I do not enjoy keeping what I know from her. I want to solve this as quickly as you do, but I do not want to make matters worse. I will not hang over your shoulder throughout whatever you choose to do about this, but I beg of you: please be mindful of the decisions you are making. This is not just about the Professor.”

“No offense? Teach is the only one I care about in this situation. Assume I’ll take her side on anything, because I will. And I’ll make those decisions when I get to them.”

Seteth fought back a scowl. He wondered if he would ever be able to get Claude to understand just how complicated the situation was without pouring out his life story. It was hard to expect nuance from someone who was missing half of the puzzle, but harder still to be patient with Claude’s battering-ram tactics.

“Even if I am taking the Professor’s side in this, I do still care for Lady Rhea,” Seteth said, “and though I do not expect you to do the same, I ask that you consider what dubious part she plays.”

“Oh, like she’s considered the innocence of everyone she’s excommunicated or killed?” Claude fixed him with a steely glare. He almost seemed to savor the weighty silence the statement had created. “Right, I’ll do my best.”

This was precisely why Seteth did not want to tell Byleth anything until he could do his own damage control. Claude had no love, no pity, for Rhea for all that he had seen her do. Why should he? Why should _Byleth?_

“I do not expect you to try to understand her,” Seteth told him, carefully choosing his words. “I promise you that Lady Rhea is not a bad person. Though it does not absolve her, she is, at the worst, someone who has spent much of her life hurting and makes many choices based on fear.”

“And what happens if you’re wrong about her?” Claude reclined a little, crossing his legs nonchalantly. “What will you do if Lady Rhea decides that Teach isn’t worth anything if she isn’t prostrated at her feet?”

Seteth had a hard time imagining that Rhea would want Byleth bowing to her every whim; she just wanted her mother back, even if she had to stuff her into someone else’s body to achieve that. She likely hadn’t fully understood whatever she had done to get to this point. “If that should be the case, then the Rhea that I know will already be long gone. And we will cross that bridge if we should ever come to it.”

“All right. I guess we’re on the same page, then.” Claude sat up a bit. “Teach said that it’s unlikely anything will happen down in the Tomb today.”

“She told me the same. Admittedly, I have been unable to find any literature detailing anything like this in the past, even down in Abyss. There is no precedent for an incident such as this.”

“Mmhm.” Claude thought for a moment. “My current theory is that, based on what Jeralt wrote in his diary, Rhea did something to Teach as a baby that would make her… I don’t know, holy? Or something? If Rhea were holy, too, that’d make sense as to why they look so similar now. They’re both goddess-blessed, or something.” Claude shot forward in his chair. “Or, or maybe there’s more than one goddess. Maybe Rhea joined with a goddess at one point, too. Am I getting warmer?”

“I haven’t a clue,” Seteth lied. It was wishful thinking, really. Claude had a brain _and_ an imagination. “Much about the past is unclear.”

“Yeah, not like we can call on Seiros herself to give us a little insight.”

 _Yes, if only she were cooperative,_ Seteth thought, hoping that his expression wouldn’t incriminate him.

Claude left him to his work to rally the Deer a little before sundown, though the conversation had rattled Seteth enough that he wasn’t able to finish the day’s work before it was time to meet Byleth at the cathedral. He gathered himself and tidied his desk, thoughts churning over Claude’s words and how little progress he had made in trying to unearth the truth of what Rhea had done to Byleth. Seteth felt almost daily now like he was missing something important, but couldn’t put his finger on what it could be. 

When he crossed the room and wrenched his office door out of the way, he found Byleth standing here, hand poised to knock.

“Well, hello,” she said. “I was just coming to get you.”

“How thoughtful of you, though I am fully capable of taking the short walk to the cathedral on my own,” he replied. Seeing her brought an almost instinctual smile to his face.

“I know. It’s only that I was already up here.” Byleth moved out of the way to let him out of his office. “I saw your door closed and thought that you had perhaps lost track of time.”

“Not today, mercifully.” Seteth paused. “Whatever were you doing that brought you up here so late in the day?”

“Well.” Byleth didn’t look at him. “I was… having tea.”

“Oh?”

“With Rhea.”

“ _Oh?_ ”

Byleth anchored her hand on the Sword of the Creator, slung at her waist. “You did tell me I should try to cozy up to her.”

“That is not the wording I used, but…” Seteth shook his head. This was… pleasantly surprising. “How was it?”

“It was fine. She’s so stiff and official. Even you loosen up when we meet for tea.” The corners of Byleth’s mouth turned up: her familiar, barely-there smile. “If I can get to you, I can get to her.”

“Am I really so stuffy?” Seteth retorted.

“Only when you’re on the clock. You practically deflate afterhours.”

The image made a chuckle rise in his chest. “Alas. No one will ever believe you, and I will spend the rest of my days maintaining my joy-adverse image.”

“Perfect.” The smile remained in her voice. “That means I only have to share you with Flayn.”

He sputtered his way through some reply, some banter back at her, thinking all the way down the stairs to the reception hall: _Goddess above, I think I would die for this woman._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lettuce man, meet your lettuce wife,
> 
> obviously, we don't have a lot of nabatean info in canon, like where seteth and flayn were hiding out for the past thousand-ish years, so a lot of this is my own headcanons + our favorite garnish, nuance,
> 
> it's also a lot of me wanting seteth to have been more active in the whole "what did rhea ACTUALLY do" dobocle, and while i am experienced at dodging canon, i'm trying to challenge myself by making seteth's involvement as canon adjacent as possible i.e. sticking with his whole "i only got bits and pieces from Rhea before she disappeared" that he gives you in the supports
> 
> I'm struggling my way through next chapter (wherein we navigate the dangerous waters of edelgard declaring war on the church, sorry but i didn't feel like chipping at the actual battle in the holy tomb), but i'm TRYING, it'll come eventually,
> 
> comments & kudos are loved!!


	10. I.X. - Losing Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The monastery prepares for a fight.

Perhaps it was destiny for nothing to ever go as planned. As if Seteth had made any concrete plans for the course of this year, anyways.

He had been onto something in regards to Edelgard, but much too late. As Byleth had suspected, Sothis had not visited her in the Holy Tomb, but Edelgard had. The Imperial Princess had made an attempt to raid the tomb of Crest stones before vacating Garreg Mach and issuing an official declaration of war against the Church of Seiros.

The monastery was effectively in a state of emergency over the news. Many of the Black Eagles students had gone home at the behests of their families, but a few had stayed behind to beseech Professor Eisner’s mentorship. Many of the local merchants had begun to vacate the nearby town, and a large amount of the monastery’s staff had submitted leave requests that took up a good third of his desk. 

Leaning on Rhea for answers about the professor would have to wait.

Flayn sat with him in his office early one morning as he pored laboriously over leave requests, letters from noble parents, Imperial movement reports, and correspondences from dispatched Knights. Byleth, apparently, had cancelled class today.

“Did you see the Professor at all, or did that news come from someone else?” Seteth asked as he scanned a letter from a rather impolite Adrestian noble. “Was there mention of why she cancelled her class today?”

“I did see her, yes. It was something about planning. She seemed rather hurried.” Flayn played absentmindedly with the compass upon the drafting table. “I would not be surprised if the Knights roped her into a defense plan.”

“...nor I. I have not heard from Rhea on any particular plans to fortify the monastery. Much less assemble a formal army.”

“What will happen? If Edelgard brings her army here and we are not ready for them?”

“I do not wish to think about that possibility,” Seteth told her. 

In actuality, it was all he had been thinking about. Rhea would not retreat unless she was forced to: he knew as much from the war they had once fought together. He refused to lose Flayn again, so he would have to cut his losses wherever necessary. Even if it meant leaving the monastery behind.

If he would be able to convince Rhea to come with him… if he would be able to convince _Byleth_ … the worst case scenario, then, would perhaps be more bearable than the alternative.

Seteth began anxiously sorting his papers by their contents for the umpteenth time. Now was not the time for that rabbit hole. Worst case scenarios were useless if they could prevent the worst here and now; they still had students to worry about, for goddess’ sake.

“I would like to help in any way I can.” Flayn leaned toward him. “Please do not baby me because you are worried. If there is anything at all I can do, for you or anyone else, I would like to know.”

“I appreciate that, Flayn. At the moment, though, I do not expect that you can assist with my paperwork.” 

“What is all of this, anyways?” Flayn cocked her head to the side as she looked over his hurriedly organized piles of papers. 

“Mostly leave requests.” He set a page into his ‘finished’ pile and took another from the stack next to his elbow. “The general clergy fear for their families, and I do not blame them. Not all of them are trained to fight, after all.”

A knock at his door broke through the sleepy morning atmosphere. Flayn scurried to answer it. The joy in her voice was unbridled as she exclaimed, “Professor!”

“Hello, Flayn. I assume Seteth is in.” Byleth’s voice on his name had quickly become one of his favorite sounds. Even so distant, coming from out in the hall, it sent a pleasant shiver down his spine.

“Yes, please come in!” Flayn said. As if in answer, the Professor’s boots clicked into his office.

“I hope you’re not drowning.” Byleth’s voice was closer to his desk, now. He glanced up to see her looking at him apologetically. Her green eyes were much easier to look at now, and somewhat mercifully, they seemed to have the same effect on Seteth as they had when they were deep blue. He could still lose himself in them if he wasn’t careful. 

“I’m terribly sorry,” she continued, “but I’ve brought you more paperwork.”

“Marvelous,” he groaned. “Shall we see what the damage is?”

Byleth handed the papers over to him. 

A quick glance over the correspondence’s heading sent a bolt of relief through him. “I was beginning to worry that Lady Rhea was simply going to let Edelgard storm the monastery.”

“To be honest, Catherine, Alois, Shamir and I wrote this missive. It’s an understatement to say that Rhea is unhappy with Edelgard, but she’s been rather unavailable these past few days.” Byleth crossed her arms. “We want to pull in our knights all across Fódlan and request any able support from Leicester and Faerghus for this army, just as a start. I expect that, if Rhea comes out of her cocoon of anger, she will have more plans for us to implement.”

“I should hope so. In the meantime, I can fast track this for you and have it distributed by the end of the day.”

“Really?” Byleth frowned. “You do not have to give my matters special treatment, you know.”

“I am not. A military bulletin far outweighs these stacks of leave forms in importance.” Seteth shook his head, a hint of a smile fighting its way onto his face. “Really, Byleth, you think I would reorganize my queue for your sake?”

Flayn, who stood at the Professor’s right side, gaped at him. “Brother!”

“You wouldn’t?” Byleth was smiling when she said it. “And here I thought I had you wrapped about my finger.”

Oh, if only she knew. “You think a few cups of tea will bend me to your beck and call? How utterly presumptuous of you, Professor.”

She was still smiling. “You wound me, Seteth.”

Despite his feigned confidence, he felt warmth crawling into his face. “In all seriousness, let me know if you should need anything from me. Given your class cancellation and this development, I expect you’re aiding the Knights’ planning efforts and will continue to do so for the foreseeable future.”

“I am. And I appreciate your assistance.” Byleth folded her hands together. “I have little experience with war, but I feel inclined to offer what expertise I can to the Knights. Facing the Imperial army will be no meager battle maneuver, and there is too much at stake to let them come without a fight.”

Seteth smoothed Byleth’s documents out on his desk. “I feel the same.”

“I’m glad. I can’t say when I’ll bring you anything else to take care of, but hopefully it’ll be after you’ve gotten a better handle on all of this.” She gestured to the clutter upon his desk. “Flayn, I am hoping to have class tomorrow as planned. Will you spread that around the House?”

“It shall be done, Professor!” Flayn beamed. “Shall I invite Petra, Bernadetta, Linhardt, and Dorothea as well?”

“Yes, please. I do not know if they’re feeling up to seeing other people, but I do want them to feel welcome. They’ve had to make some terrifying choices this week, and I would like them to know that we value their presences.” Byleth started back out of Seteth’s office, but stopped and lingered in the doorway for a moment to add, “Thank you again, Seteth. If you feel like you can take a break at any point today, I’ll likely be around the offices.”

With that, she was gone. Flayn whirled on him. “Unbelievable. The two of you banter like… like…”

“Like children, I presume,” Seteth mumbled. He’d already started copying down the contents of Byleth’s missive onto another page. 

“Actually, you bounce off of each other quite well.” Flayn’s voice became small. “I was going to say that it reminded me of Mother.”

Seteth’s quill clattered to the desk. “...what?”

“Well, I have noticed it once or twice before, but…” He looked up to see Flayn sheepishly playing with the trim upon her sleeve. “You and Mother used to tease each other like that.”

He stared off into the middle distance for a while, not thinking and not feeling. 

Flayn, red-faced, apologized profusely for making the comparison and quietly busied herself with some of his fables on the bookshelf by the door. Seteth spent maybe an hour afterward trying to focus on his paperwork, finding that his thoughts kept drifting back to those words. 

Had Flayn thought she’d hurt his feelings by invoking her mother? He hoped not. In truth, the comparison had elicited a strange mixture of sorrow and satisfaction in the pit of his stomach.

A terrifying realization had dawned on him: now, when he tried to recall his wife, tried to remember some instance of what Flayn had been talking about, the only face that came to mind was Byleth’s.

Seteth had an uneasy handle on his work by the end of the week; he’d gotten through all of the leave requests and most of the letters, and he’d been able to carry out any of the Knights’ requests regarding the monastery’s defense plans. Currently, all of the Church’s auxiliary forces were on their way back to Garreg Mach, and requests for aid had been pushed through to the Kingdom and the Alliance via Dimitri and Claude. 

Work had always been his best distraction. When the news about Zanado had reached them, during the war, after his wife had passed, and during Flayn’s slumber… every time, he had successfully held his emotions back by submerging himself in work. Rhea, initially, had given him this job because she had known as much. Seteth was good at busywork. He didn’t quite enjoy it, he wasn’t sure anyone did, but he often found himself looking for ways to distract himself from the unfortunate. Paperwork was monotonous, but it had been a reliable distraction during the last thousand years.

It certainly didn’t let him down now, as he fought his unruly heart’s pull toward Byleth. Edelgard’s plans had changed everything, and it meant that Seteth, as the chief bureaucrat of the Church, could not allow himself to be distracted by anything but work.

Had circumstances been different, he would have continued his investigation into what Rhea had done: pried her open, likely, with Byleth’s help. It did not feel right to do so until he had told her the truth about everything, but… he might have pursued the idea of courting Byleth. 

He had no proof that she lived as long as him, now, but… if Byleth truly had joined in body and soul with Sothis, why wouldn’t she have taken on the goddess’ immortality? Rhea insisted upon calling her Nabatean, anyways. Until Seteth had proof, he could not be sure, but for the moment, he was hopeful enough to loosen the leash on his self control just a little. Hopeful enough to imagine what it would be like to be allowed to slip a hand into hers or press a kiss to her cheek.

Doing any of that now, though, while navigating the Imperial declaration of war, would be inopportune: if not completely impossible. For now, he would have to continue keeping his infatuation under wraps if he hoped to get anything done. Perhaps he was no longer convincing himself not to love Byleth, but pretending that she did not affect him at all was proving to be equally as difficult. 

In the coming weeks, the monastery buzzed with activity, and Seteth was busier than ever. He had precious few interactions with Byleth, seeing her perhaps once or twice in passing and always being forced to turn down a meal with her due to the crowded contents of his daily schedule. It was difficult to work without terribly missing her regular visits.

Retreating Knights had forwarded a sighting of Imperial troops en route to Garreg Mach by way of a messenger on a wyvern, and Shamir’s scouts were estimating that Edelgard’s forces would arrive in less than two weeks. It had saddled Seteth with organizing the monastery’s defensive plans in full, and Byleth was balancing the needs of her class with helping the Knights plan their counter-maneuvers and evacuate civilians. 

Two weeks were not enough; there was much to take care of.

Seteth’s days began early: he dragged himself out of bed before sunrise in order to spend the morning trying to tackle the ever-growing stack of letters and military missives that had begun to swallow his desk. In the afternoons, he had to oversee repairs on the battlements and ballistas edging the monastery walls, go over reports and manifests from the steady stream of arriving Knights of Seiros, and sign off on supply shipments to keep the monastery going amongst all of the battle preparations. 

In the evenings, Flayn would bring dinner up to his office; he’d scarf it down while parsing through more paperwork and try his best to listen to her updates on what was happening around the monastery.

“Professor Eisner is still holding class for anyone who wishes to attend,” Flayn was telling him. “For some kind of normalcy, she said. I believe Professors Hanneman and Manuela are doing the same, but they are just as busy as Professor Eisner is.”

“I am surprised she has the time to hold a lecture every day,” Seteth responded, frowning as he lost his place in the letter beneath his hand. 

“They are not very long. I think an hour, at most. When Manuela and Hanneman are not having class, some of the Blue Lions join us, too. I think Petra, Bernadetta, Dorothea, and Linhardt have just decided to integrate with our House, as well.”

“I hope no one is unwell. These are unprecedented times, after all. I commend the courage of those who have chosen to stay with us.”

“Some are better than others.” Flayn fiddled with the hilt of one of the swords in the case against the wall, which made Seteth tense instinctually. “I am… worried about Dorothea. And Dimitri.”

Seteth frowned. Dorothea Arnault, formerly Black Eagles, he had expected, given her proximity to Edelgard. Her sorrow was entirely valid, and Seteth hoped that the Golden Deer were being gentle with her, but… “Dimitri?”

Flayn shook her head. “He is not himself. I saw Dedue approach the Professor today about it, and she told me at tea when I asked that she was planning to speak with Dimitri. I think that Edelgard’s actions have unearthed something terrible in him.”

That could not possibly be good. “I will try to schedule some more counseling hours. It is possible that we do not have enough available for the remaining students.” He backtracked a little. “So, you took tea with Professor Eisner today?”

“Yes and no. She is just as busy as you are, but I have taken to bringing her a cup of tea and a snack when I can catch her in the classroom.”

“That’s very kind of you. I am sure she appreciates it.”

“It is one more little bit of normalcy we can have right now,” Flayn said. With a small, wry smile, she added, “She told me to keep you from ‘burning your candle at both ends,’ or else she shall have to come and bodily take you to meals and to sleep.”

Heat sprang into Seteth’s face at the image: the implication. “Well, we can’t have that, can we?”

Flayn’s smile widened, but she said nothing more. 

The days seemed to lengthen as time ran out. Shamir’s scouts were reporting Imperial movements closer and closer to the monastery every day, and the nervous energy throughout Garreg Mach was very palpable. Seteth’s necessary repairs on the old defensive structures had been made, but he still spent hours toiling away in his office. Normally, he would have enlisted other high-ranking members in the Church to take on some of the clerical weight, but the monastery had long since emptied of many of its grunt workers. All that remained were clergy who were trained to fight and students who had either a bold streak or had nowhere else to go.

The first Seteth saw of Byleth for more than a few moments was in the early morning the day that the Imperial troops were expected to arrive. 

He had barely slept that night, tossing and turning before at last slipping out to relish in the permanent peace that seemed to pervade the cathedral. He sat in a pew, bowed his head, and stayed there until the sun filtered in through the stained glass, praying to Sothis even though he knew she could not hear him.

He feared that it would be the last calm he would see for a while.

The sound of boots clicking upon the marble floor alerted Seteth to Byleth’s approach: it was a sound he had long since learned how to distinguish.

The bench groaned as she sat beside him, far enough to leave space between them, but close enough that he could practically feel the warmth radiating from her. 

After a long, peaceful moment, she murmured, “I hope you weren’t working through the night.” Her low voice scraped as if she had only just woken up.

“No. But I could not sleep,” he answered, his own voice straining against the morning chill. 

“Me neither, really. I tossed and turned for a few hours and figured I would get out at sun-up.”

Seteth shifted uneasily. “Funny that you and I both decided that this would be the place to spend a solitary morning.”

“It’s always quiet here, but especially now with most of the general clergy gone.” Byleth folded her hands together between her knees. “Lately I come here thinking that it might coax Sothis back out.”

“Any luck with that?”

“No.” Her voice was solemn. “It is… difficult to get used to such constant guidance, only to have it vanish as if in the night.”

“I would imagine as much,” Seteth responded. “I don’t suppose you have had much time to pick Rhea’s brain lately.”

“Not as much as I would have liked.”

“Nor have I.” He paused. “I am sorry for that. I… I fear that it will be some time before you will be able to get your answers.”

“Truthfully, I think I came to terms with that not long after the incident in the Tomb. But I have tried to spend this time wisely, helping the Knights and caring for my students as best as I can. I have spoken to Rhea enough to understand that she is not nearly the person she tries to project to others.” Was it his imagination, or was Byleth shifting closer to him? “I… I have to have hope that whatever was done to me was not done with malicious intent. I am alive, after all. And though it might not have been destiny entirely that led me to Garreg Mach… is it so bad that I came here at all?”

She had been just as busy as him these past few weeks, it seemed: helping the Knights while becoming a well of emotional support for her students and keeping herself afloat. Seteth did not wish to air his fears: that Rhea’s secrecy surrounding what she’d done made him wary of the worst. If Byleth chose to cut her own path toward forgiving what had been done to her—even if she did not yet know anything concrete—then it was not his place to stop her. 

Perhaps it was the sleep deprivation that made him say, “I hope you are happy, or that you have been happy, I suppose. Despite all that has happened, I hope that you have come to like it here.”

“I… I should think it obvious that I have never fought a war,” Byleth told him. “Jeralt used to say that you shouldn’t pick a fight you had even a single doubt about. He advised me to steer clear of war entirely, because there are always so many factors that interconnect, so many possibilities for things to go wrong: so many lies you could be fighting for.”

Seteth frowned, unsure where the conversation was going. “He was right.”

“There are many things that the Church does that I do not agree with.” Byleth paused, searching for words. Seteth hoped that she did not think him offended by the statement. “But I have grown to love this place. I love my students. I love Garreg Mach. I love…” She swallowed, her eyes flickering from his face to the floor. “I love the way that I feel here. I care about Edelgard, about what drove her to this, and I would rather not fight her at all, but I am willing to because I care about preserving the lives of all of these people as much as I care about finding the truth.”

“So, I shall take that as a ‘yes,’ then,” Seteth responded, feeling breathless. “I am glad that you feel at home here, with us.” With me and Flayn. “In spite of all else.”

“You have all done your fair share of influencing me, on that front.” A light smile pulled on Byleth’s lips. “I have to admit, it was terrible not seeing you or Flayn very much as of late. I was very happy to spend a few precious moments with her over the past few weeks, but admittedly, we both spent much of our time worrying over you.”

Seteth allowed himself a smile back. “We shall all have to budget our time in the coming months, won’t we?” 

“Yes.” Byleth’s face became somber again. “That is, of course, provided we successfully defend this place.”

“We will not fall,” Seteth told her, hoping that speaking the words into existence would allow them to hold true. 

“We _must_ not,” Byleth added. 

The weight in the air held an uneasy what if: what if the monastery did fall? What would they do then? 

Seteth searched for a way to ask Byleth to come with him and Flayn should the worst befall the forces they’d gathered. He knew that Professor Eisner was not the type to retreat, but he also knew that she was the type to believe that anyone without a plan for the worst-case was a fool. 

He turned to look at her, finding that her bright green eyes were already fixed to him, and promptly forgot what he was planning on saying. Her lips parted ever so slightly, as if she had been planning to say something, too.

More than perhaps he ever had, he wished to be allowed to pull her in close, to drift the back of his hand over the softness of her cheek: wished to learn the taste of her breath, the sensation of that barely-there smile forming beneath a kiss—

The spell between them broke when a voice lilted through the nave: “Professor Eisner. Seteth. Good morning.”

 _Rhea._

Seteth drew hastily backward. He hadn’t even noticed that he’d been leaning in toward Byleth.

Or that she had been doing the same.

“Good morning, Lady Rhea.” Byleth’s voice was strained. “Seteth and I were discussing troop logistics. There is still much to take care of if we are to be ready for Edelgard.”

“Were you, now?” A faint, knowing smile flashed across Rhea’s face. “How lucky I am to have such diligent peers as yourselves. Tell me, Seteth, if you agree with Professor Eisner’s proposed plan of attack? She caused quite a raucous when she presented it to Shamir.”

Oh, goddess. He had been trying to hide his feelings from Rhea lest she use them against him somehow—hold his biases over his head—but she had seen enough to know something. Byleth had lied so easily, yet Rhea was trying to catch them in it. Presumably to confirm her suspicions.

His paperwork-fried brain remembered only bits and pieces of Shamir’s war room reports; he scrambled for some inane guess, some useful, passable white lie. “I must admit that I would feel a bit safer fighting via Shamir’s ambush formations, but I trust Professor Eisner’s judgment. If she believes it is best for us to act offensively, then I will go along with what she says.”

Byleth, out of the corner of his eye, nodded approvingly. 

“Well, we shall have to hope for the best.” Rhea’s calm beauty distorted coldly for a moment: “Edelgard’s insolence cannot go unpunished.”

Byleth seemed to tense. “We will protect this place and those who remain. You have my word, Lady Rhea.”

Rhea’s expression softened at that in a way Seteth didn’t think he’d ever seen. “I am grateful for your presence here, Professor. You have proved to be a valuable ally. The goddess chose wisely when she picked you, I am sure of it.”

 _Picked._ Seteth averted his eyes from her so that she would, hopefully, not see his scowl. What funny words for Rhea to apply to her own meddling.

Byleth was as graceful as ever. “I am happy you think so, Lady Rhea. I was also telling Seteth that I am grateful to have come here. No matter what happens… I am grateful that you all welcomed me. I am grateful to be called your ally, and to call you mine in return.”

“Jeralt would be proud of you, child.”

Byleth’s voice was decidedly somber when she said, “I hope so, Lady Rhea.” The pew creaked beneath them as Byleth rose again. Seteth felt himself drawn bodily in her direction. “If you will excuse me, I only wished for a few moments of solitude before this terrible day begins. Should either of you need me for something, I will likely be in the Cardinal’s Room.”

Seteth looked after her as she set off down the walkway, past Lady Rhea, and back through the massive cathedral doors. He pulled himself to his feet, too, fatigue settling in his feet like stones as he attempted to slip away before Rhea could corner him about what she had seen.

“Seteth.” Rhea’s voice stopped him in his tracks. 

He turned, not knowing what he expected her to say.

“I am happy for you.”

Face aflame, he turned once more to make his escape.

“Wait a moment. Please.” There was an urgency in Rhea’s voice that made him eke to a stop again. “I… I understand now why you have been so imperative with me—”

“No, I do not believe you do,” Seteth retorted. “Regardless of my feelings, Rhea, I fear that you have done something unspeakable. You will not tell me in what way you defiled Professor Eisner, and that frightens me greatly. I promise you that I would feel this way about what you’ve done even if… even if I did not feel the way I do about her.”

“I do not see why it matters. It would seem that my wish did not come true in entirety, anyways.” Rhea turned to leave, motioning for him to follow. Seteth fell in step beside her. 

“It matters to me, Rhea. And I believe that it would matter to… to Byleth, too. How do you think she would feel, if she were to discover that those she trusted had been keeping such heavy truths from her?” Seteth lowered his voice a little. “You were the one who called her our family, now. It is our responsibility to treat her like it. Even beyond that, a person is not a toy to play with.”

Rhea frowned, but did not reply right away. It was only when the two of them had crossed the cathedral bridge and reached the stairs to the offices when she said, “I do not expect you to understand why I did what I did, Seteth, but I am grateful that you have not ostracized me too harshly for it. I am grateful that you have been by my side these past few years. I will admit that the moment I realized who she was, I no longer saw her as anything but a vessel.”

“But you have had a change of heart?” Seteth leaned in closer, a glimmer of hope rising in his chest.

“I am beginning to understand why she is so well-loved. Lately, she has been inviting me to tea, and I have had the opportunity to engage with her outside of both of our duties.” Rhea seemed to lose herself at some point in the distance. “I am… surprised, honestly. She is both like and not at all like Jeralt. Gracious and kind but crass and practical all the same. She… she does remind me a little of my mother, in some strange, small ways.”

“You cannot replace those you’ve lost, Rhea,” Seteth murmured. “Nothing will bring them back. And trying to force it will hurt more than you believe it will. I know that you know this as well as I do.” 

“Yes, I… I have heard you say as much before.” Rhea averted her eyes, her lips becoming a thin, pale line. “As I said, I am happy for you. I’ve not seen you look at someone like that since Athene.”

Seteth could not find a way to reply. 

Rhea took her leave with a polite ‘goodbye,’ which left Seteth to flounder in the hall. Rhea had, perhaps, begun to see Byleth as a person rather than some nameless power sink, but was it enough? Would it be enough if Byleth did not eventually hear it from Rhea herself?

Obviously, Seteth would have to figure out a way to restart this conversation some other time, when they weren’t about to intercept an Imperial invasion. What a terrible time for two such major events to occur and, unfortunately, intersect. 

Frazzled by the events of the morning, he trudged back to the flat to rouse Flayn and begin his day’s work. There was still so much to be done.

He had been over a last-resort escape plan with Flayn several times over the course of the week. Though she had railed against it when he had presented the idea to her, this morning she somberly packed her clothing away without a single complaint. Her many gifts from Byleth were tucked safely in between soft items, though Flayn had him clasp the seashell necklace around her neck to be worn into battle. From around their little flat, important, cherished items were collected and packed away, from old books to trinkets to a few secretly-kept antiques from their past. 

Flayn dressed in her Bishop’s regalia in preparation for battle. Seteth, just as well, packed away his comfortable, well-loved robes and confined himself to his wyvern armor (sans chestplate, pauldrons, and gauntlets, only so that he would retain some freedom of movement while he dealt with any extraneous non-combat matters).

“I believe I can manage carrying this to the stables on my own.” Flayn heaved the bag of their belongings onto her back, stumbling a few steps in a way that made Seteth lunge to catch her. 

“Are you sure?” he pressed.

“Yes!” Flayn pouted. “I simply lost my balance. You have much more to take care of, and it would be imprudent of me to require that you do this, too.”

Seteth frowned. “You know how to strap it on, and everything?”

“Of course! And Saint likes me, he will not make it too difficult for me.”

“...very well. Once you’ve finished, I’ll be in my office. I have the last of my paperwork to finish before I join the others in the Cardinal’s Room.”

“Good luck, Father.”

Goddess, would he need it.

He thought anxiously of Byleth throughout the morning, foregoing morning tea and any hope of breakfast because of the nausea that had set in. Paperwork was signed, interceptor troops were deployed, the last civilian evacuations had begun, and Seteth rattled uncomfortably in his armor through it all. He could not shake that feeling that had gripped him in the cathedral: the memory of how close he had been to Byleth, how her eyes seemed to beckon for his deepest truths today more than ever. He had not found the words to ask her to… to run away with them.

He and Flayn and Rhea had always made it out of the other side of situations like these. A thousand years had not taken a toll on their ability to survive, and if the worst befell them today, that fact would not change. As long as he stayed close to Flayn and kept an eye on Rhea, the three of them would be okay. He'd drag Rhea kicking and screaming, if he had to. They would regroup and figure something out. He and Flayn had already made their own provisions for a last-resort escape, and Flayn knew what to do and where to go in the event that they were separated.

Byleth would not be so simple. Seteth had seen the fire that lived in her: this morning and every day prior. She would fight until her last breath. If Edelgard shackled her and toted her to Enbarr on parade, she would still fight. 

Byleth did not like to be saved by anyone but herself, that much he knew, but… saving her from herself was not something he felt she was prepared to do.

By midday, the monastery had all but emptied, and Seteth lugged his cuirass up to his office. The last of his duties included locking up every room as tightly he could, just in case the monastery was to fall. Should any enchantments lapse or be broken, there was nothing wrong with good old-fashioned deadbolts. They would not give everything up the Imperial army: not that easily.

He stood in the doorway to his office and gave it a lingering look. He had already packed up everything that had irreplaceable value to him, but he would still hate to lose a place he had grown so comfortable with. Twenty years in the same place was a long time, even for someone with his lifespan. Seteth said another prayer to Sothis: one of many he’d said today.

Byleth’s voice spiraled down the vaulted hallway. “Seteth.”

She was dressed impeccably, a set of familiar ceremonial robes intertwining with her usual getup: Rhea must have gifted them to her for the battle. Upon her head sat a golden diadem that just seemed to belong there. 

The sight of her, beautiful and regal, leveled him; he felt the unexplainable urge to bow. She looked as though she had stepped out of a painting. “Give me just a moment, Byleth. I have a few more doors to bolt.”

“That’s fine. I came to ask you to join my battalion.”

“You want me to fight with you?”

“Of course,” she said. “Flayn is among my numbers, after all, and I… I value your skill and your time. I wish for all of us to be able to look out for each other.”

Emotion gripped him for a moment, making it difficult to respond. “...I appreciate that, thank you. Let me finish up here, and I would be happy to join you.”

“We are posted just south of the gates whenever you’re ready. We will not move out without you.”

He listened to her shoes upon the stones as she vanished down the hall. Seteth did not waste any time locking up the rest of the offices. 

Somehow, he felt a little better about being invited to fight with Byleth and her students. Rhea would be under heavy guard, perfectly fine by herself, and Seteth would have been wrought with worry holding up that rear brigade while Byleth and Flayn held the front lines.

He bid a fond, temporary farewell, he hoped, to the administrative offices, slung his cuirass over a shoulder, and made for the stables.

Saint seemed as antsy as Seteth felt when he arrived at the stable, bustling with knights and students. A scout had spotted the first hints of Imperial flags not five kilometers outside of the town of Garreg Mach. Seteth said another instinctual prayer, slipped his cuirass and gauntlets on, and swung himself up into Saint’s saddle. 

South of the monastery gates, Byleth was a steadfast point of green upon a battlement, flanked on one side by Claude’s wyvern and, on the other, by Flayn in her Bishop’s robes. 

“Tell me where you want me,” he said, by way of greeting, when Saint landed at a precarious spot upon a parapet.

“Should the front guard fail and let their troops through, our plan is to engage them from three separate points.” Byleth gestured to the silent town reaching out from the edge of the woods. “From the other end of the battlements, from the center, and from here.”

“I won’t be surprised if Edelgard herself is part of the Imperial front line,” Claude chimed. “We shouldn’t underestimate her.”

“I don’t plan to,” Byleth said. “If she’s part of the raiding party, then you keep holding the line and leave Edelgard to me. Seteth, I want you here on this side to take over for me if that happens. Our ultimate goal is to advance and push our line to the wood.”

“I understand,” he said. “I will follow your lead.”

She nodded sagely. Claude looked on through an intricately designed telescope. 

The afternoon sun sat high in the sky and seemed to turn Byleth into a spot of fire. Seteth could barely take his eyes off of her for the time in which they stood there, solitary, awaiting the inexorable. 

Flayn sidled up close to Saint and reached a hand up toward the saddle. Seteth held it tight, carrying Assal in the other: Flayn toted Caduceus at her side. The silent promise between them, made a thousand years ago, calmed Seteth’s fears about his precious daughter for the first time in a long time. No, for once, he did not fear losing Flayn. 

The first signs of red uniforms crept out of the tree line. Byleth did not move; she barely even squinted at that distant deluge of troopers. After a moment, Seteth realized that she was counting them as they emerged from the cover of the wood.

One by one, Imperial troops emerged and formed ranks around the town, small coteries of five or six forming on the east and the west until a single golden troop emerged from the tree line. The monastery's interceptor troops had fallen fast, faster than anticipated. It was not a good sign. 

“There she is,” Claude said. He stowed his telescope. “Where do you want us, Teach?”

“Keep holding.” She looked toward Seteth to explain. “Bernadetta, Dorothea, and Linhardt are on the onagers and the ballista. They’re to open fire once the troops reach the southern tip of the town. Then we begin our advance.” Byleth nodded to Claude. “I will advance with you until we’ve established an eastern stronghold. Once you’re dug in, I’ll go after Edelgard.”

Flayn asked the question he’d been wanting to ask all day. “Professor… if we must, where will we fall back to?”

Byleth looked to Flayn with pain in her eyes. “We fall back to the monastery. Abyss knows we’re coming, should we need to evacuate off the hillside.”

The Knights had talked this over in the Cardinal’s Room earlier in the day. Byleth had been flanked by an unhappy Yuri Leclerc when Shamir had asked for usage of Abyss as an emergency escapeway. In the event that the monastery was surrounded, Abyss provided several underground means of leaving the area unseen. 

Seteth had told Flayn about it. A feeling of intense discomfort in his chest kept him from clarifying what Flayn was really asking: what they were supposed to do afterward.

The shimmering sound of an onager firing up drew Seteth’s eyes to the south of the town of Garreg Mach: an incandescent sphere of blue light ricocheted off of a building and spiraled into the dirt between several Imperial troops. A moment passed. The Imperial forces began to run.

Dorothea, or Linhardt, Seteth didn’t know who, fired off four or five more rounds before a volley of arrows targeted a group of soldiers in the west of the town. 

“All right.” Byleth’s voice betrayed no emotion. “I know I gave you all this speech already, but… be careful out there. You retreat if you get hurt. Nobody is dying on me.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Claude responded. His wyvern reared up and took off: undoubtedly Byleth’s signal to the two other battalions to begin their advances.

Seteth squeezed Flayn’s hand. She squeezed back. Then he joined Claude in the sky, and below him, Byleth and Flayn made a break for the town.

The battle was a blur. 

Seteth did not recognize any of the troops he took down, which was perhaps a good thing. He had been hoping that any of the Black Eagle students who had been spirited away by their parents or guardians would not choose to participate in this initial attack. He knew that those Black Eagles that Byleth had been harboring had not had it easy and would not take kindly to facing their friends and peers. Perhaps that thought was why Byleth had placed them all on the artillery to begin with.

They were outnumbered, but Byleth had trained her students well. More than well. Lysithea, Hilda, and Marianne held the center of town, and Bernadetta had advanced to take over the central ballista. Raphael, Ignatz, Petra, and Leonie had taken the western side of the town. Claude was a bolt of topaz lightning he barely saw, dodging arrows and keeping mounted soldiers off of Byleth and Flayn as they took the eastern end of town.

Seteth busied himself with the mounted units that kept pouring in from behind Edelgard until Flayn shouting caught his attention: a dark shape atop an armored horse caught his eye, and he was suddenly blind with single-minded rage. 

By the time Saint reached the eastern stronghold, Flayn had pushed the Death Knight back against a building for Byleth to engage one-on-one. Seteth flew close enough to give his daughter a once-over for injury, then landed beside Byleth and boasted Assal.

Before he knew it, the Death Knight was retreating. Perhaps he had just decided that they weren’t worth it, but Seteth preferred to imagine that they had scared the Knight off. Seteth wanted to follow the Knight into the woods, scare him off for good, but Flayn running to hug him cooled his anger long enough to return him his wits. They still had bigger problems to attend to.

Byleth inclined her head up toward him. “Don’t do anything foolish. Hold this position.”

“Well, hold on now.” Seteth frowned at her. “I should say the same to you. I will not lose you today, Byleth.”

“You’re right. You won’t.” She smiled gently. “Don’t worry. Claude’s watching my back. I’ll see you both soon.”

With that, Byleth vanished in between two houses. Seteth prayed for her safety.

Flayn clutched at his hand. “Thank you. That was… whew. I would certainly like to pummel him myself, but not… _by myself_ by myself!”

“You will never fight alone. I swear it.” He pulled her toward him to give her a quick hug. “Now, you watch my back, and I will watch yours.”

They stood together upon the stronghold, keeping position and repelling any straggling soldiers that came into their line of sight. The sounds of the ballistas firing were the only thing that kept Seteth grounded: gave him some sense of time and chaos.

When the world and all its noise stopped, Seteth launched Saint up into the sky to get a better look at the battlefield and saw… saw Edelgard in her golden armor, and Hubert at her side, retreating…

 _Byleth Byleth Byleth_. He scanned for her, careful to keep out of Claude’s airspace, and found her retreating backward toward Lysithea and company at the central ballista. The Professor did not look happy.

He steered Saint down to the eastern stronghold and reached for Flayn, who boosted herself up onto the wyvern and clung to Seteth as he maneuvered them back toward the monastery’s gates.

“RETREAT!” Byleth was shouting, up at the Knights trimming the battlements. “THOSE UNPREPARED TO FIGHT, RETREAT TO SAFETY!”

That was not a good sign.

Seteth landed beside Claude, who seemed to be using his wyvern as a wall between Byleth, the other students, and the steaming battlefield.

“Edelgard did not fall,” Byleth was saying. “I could not… could not kill her. And even if I was able, I did not have the opportunity. She is sending in reserve troops. We may still be able to make a stand if we tighten our formation to guard the monastery gates, but… it might be safe to evacuate Lady Rhea someplace safe, especially if we’re pulling in closer.”

A roar from the tree line drew their eyes south.

“We need to fall back _now_ ,” Claude said. “Teach?”

“...yes. All right. I want all of you helping to evacuate anyone you see.” Byleth looked from student to student: as if cementing her memories of them. “Go. Now. We will all rendezvous in Abyss as soon as everyone who is vulnerable is safe.”

Byleth’s voice was so commanding, so imperative, that no one seemed to feel the need to question her. Horses, pegasi, and units on foot raced through the gate and up the steps, into the crowd of students on defense who had started to scramble further back into the monastery.

Flayn tugged on Seteth’s hand. He had his eyes stuck to Byleth, who was exchanging terse words with Claude.

“Don’t do anything stupid, Teach,” Claude was saying.

“I won’t.” Byleth put her hand over her heart. “I am only here to help hold the line as long as we can. You have my word.”

Claude, though he looked unhappy about it, snapped his wyvern’s reins and retreated backward into Garreg Mach. 

“We are staying with you, Byleth,” Seteth heard himself say. “I will not see something happen to you because I neglected to give you help where you needed it.”

A soft, rueful smile turned up her lips. Goddess, now was not a good time to imagine stealing a kiss from that mouth. “Thank you both, but… Right now, I need you to evacuate everyone you can. Seteth, your wyvern is indispensable.”

He did not recognize his own voice when he said, again, “ _I am not leaving you_.”

She turned those incandescent eyes on him. “Wait for me. I’m right behind you.”

Her lips parted, as if there was something more she had yet to say, but those words did not come. 

He did not know what possessed him to concede. Never before had someone he loved implored him to leave them. Not with such… such tenderness.

As Saint cruised over the monastery’s front balconies, as Seteth scanned but did not see spots of people scurrying to Abyss, those words and that realization stuck with him. 

He was in love with her, wasn’t he? There was no running from it anymore. And, the second she ducked with them into Abyss, he was going to tell her. Tell her and pray that it would create a single spot of brightness in this otherwise indescribably dark reality.

Seteth dropped Flayn at the cavernous entrance to Abyss and circled the monastery, picking up anyone he saw who was too far or too unable to make the trip by themselves. A few of Byleth’s students were doing the same, he noted. He was surprised by how many elderly clergy, how many disabled students, had stayed behind to fight, but he was grateful and he told them so.

Seteth circled the monastery until he could see no more people on the ground. He felt drawn bodily in the direction of the gates, to Byleth, but equally so, down below, to Flayn. 

He had to trust Byleth. Trust that she would retreat soon and that they could figure out something to do, some way to retaliate. With Flayn in tow, he led Saint laboriously underground. The reality of losing Garreg Mach to the Imperial army had not quite set in yet. 

Down below, people seemed to be taking headcounts, checking for their friends and colleagues. Seteth led his wyvern further, where he would take up less space: toward the bridge over the waterway, at the far end of Abyss' ramshackle houses and shops. Here, he and Flayn would wait. Wait for Byleth. Wait for as long as it would take.

Claude seemed to have had a similar idea: he and the rest of Byleth’s students had gathered with their mounts at the bridge, out of the way of most others.

Claude looked him up and down. “We’re just waiting on Teach, Leonie, and Marianne.”

Leonie and Marianne, Seteth suspected, had been evacuating people as well. He stood there fidgeting, not too patiently, for what seemed like a lifetime, long enough that people began leaving Abyss entirely through the lower tunnels just to exit the mountain: not a good sign.

When Marianne and Leonie arrived, the bridge was clear enough for their pegasi to carry on at a trot.

Claude ran to them. He sounded angrier than Seteth thought he’d ever heard from the Leicester heir. “Byleth. _Where is Byleth?_ ”

Seteth’s head pounded with the sound of her name. The last thing she had said. _Wait for me. I’m right behind you._

“I... I saw her.” Marianne’s tiny voice was the only sound: she did not look up from her reins. “The dragon, she—she was helping the dragon.”

The _what?_

“What dragon?” Claude demanded.

Marianne looked up, eyes wide and wild. “Y-You won’t believe me.”

“Marianne.”

Her lip trembled. “It was the Immaculate One. The Immaculate One came to help us, like it came straight out of the paintings.”

Oh. Oh _no. Rhea._

Seteth thought that Rhea had been among the first to evacuate. He hadn’t seen her while he’d been searching for stragglers. With her bright green hair and white and gold papal robes, she was almost always impossible to miss.

“I saw the Professor fight some of the monsters away from it.”

“Did you see where she went after that?” Seteth pressed. 

Marianne, to his chagrin, began to cry. Had the question been so abrasive?

“I am sorry,” he said, “I did not mean to—”

“I-I saw her fall.”

He stilled. “...what?”

“She fell.” Marianne hid her reddening face in her hands. Her voice was muffled around the words: “She fell from one of the battlements.”

“No,” Claude remarked, his voice growing frantic. “No, that can’t be right. I saw her too, she was perfectly fine, she was… She was…”

She fell. 

“Not Teach. She wouldn’t… Marianne, I’m sure she’s fine! I’m sure, even if she did fall, she…” Claude trailed off, shoulders trembling. “She’s fine. She landed somewhere. We just have to track her down.”

_She. Fell._

The words thundered in Seteth’s head like drum beats. She fell. She fell off of the hillside, was the implication.

Claude was already picking students for a search party. Seteth could not see anywhere to sit down, but then again, if he sat, what would possibly motivate him to stand up again? Flayn was suddenly at his side, gripping his arm, as if she could see the panic settling over him like a dark cloud. Seteth glanced down at her, his heart pulling in a million different directions when he saw the silent tears dripping down her cheeks.

She had gone down fighting, gone down trying to help Rhea. Two dear friends, gone just like that. Seteth had no idea what had become of Rhea, so perhaps there was hope for her yet, but someone had seen Byleth fall. There was no changing that. There was no turning back time for her idiotic, fatal valiance. He could not scold her for her recklessness. Could not flagellate himself for failing to act a second time. He had nothing left of Byleth, now.

There was no sound in him. There was nothing at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!!! it's been a hot sec,
> 
> Normally I try to update multiple chapters at a time but it took me forever to write this chapter and it's absolutely massive. so.
> 
> Thank you for all of the wonderful comments, by the way, I'm really glad that people seem to like this story!!! I appreciate all of your support and your kind words and, even if you're but a ghost reader, I still appreciate you!!!
> 
> Mostly this chapter took so long to write because I couldn't figure out how I wanted to do the battle (I'm still not all that sure how I feel about it, but if I look at it any longer I'll probably cry). I settled for a weird mix of the in-game battle and the post-battle cutscene. I'm here for emotions but I'm also legally incapable of (purposefully) being lazy about my plot whoops
> 
> the laundry list of details:  
> I picked dorothea, linhardt, bernadetta, and petra to stay because, arguably, they have less of a concrete reason to stay with edelgard if the professor is not there with them (e.g. bernie has a shitty family, dorothea has NO family, linhardt HATES his family, and petra is uhhhhh arguably a political prisoner),, obviously i'm not going to get into the weeds about it, much like every fire emblem, politically there's uh a lot going on, but like i said in the description everyone else but the handlers/house leaders will eventually join because it's how I play the gaaaaame I just. didn't see a reason for that handful to go and then come back post-ts (whereas everyone else has deeper familial obligations)
> 
> obv green dad's wife has no canon name, but I'm calling her athene because greek goddess names feel right (I almost went with minerva but it didn't feel quite right,)
> 
> Saint also felt like a cute, not-sure-if-it's-canon name for the wyvern. shoutout to spaceelf for my favorite name for the lettuce wyvern, pebbles,
> 
> Anyways!!! thank y'all again for your support. I hope everyone is staying safe and feeling loved this winter :) Comments & kudos are loved and appreciated, as always! 
> 
> Please accept my setleth art of the first scene in this chapter, wherein flayn witnesses her dad bickering with her future stepmom: https://dduzyy.tumblr.com/post/632637257071886336/local-child-observes-love-in-real-time


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